


So Please (Believe in Me)

by eclipsed (wasatch_97)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Feels, Bittersweet, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Loyalty, M/M, Naval Officers, Navy, Time Skips, War, because why the hell not, chan australian navy, fighterpilot!jisung x officer!minho au, happy ending but not traditional, hyunsung american navy, naval aviators, please read chapter specific cws, read this for minsung on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the pacific, seungminbin korean navy, the point is the angst, this is NOT accurate lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasatch_97/pseuds/eclipsed
Summary: “Peter Parker,” Minho slurs, feeling the effects of the alcohol. “I figured out your call sign. Your secret’s exposed, Spider-man.”“Are you…” Parker - Peter, as Minho’s foggy brain tags him - trails off, the corner of his lips lifting at Minho’s intoxicated rambling. “You’ve been thinking about me?”Minho grimaces, raising the beer to his lips and taking a swig, elbow brushing the already empty bottle beside him. “You’re so…” he trails off, trying to come up with the English word he’s looking for.“Handsome? Talented? Brilliant?” Peter grins at him.“Obnoxious!” Minho cries as Peter jumps off of the crate, landing next to him. “You’re obnoxious, Lieutenant Han.”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	1. HMAS Melbourne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this is editing kate uh ten months later from when this was first published (yikes)  
> basically i’m going through and fixing errors and flushing out the story and also changing up the a/ns :D  
> now that that’s out of the way lets get on with what you need to know before reading!!
> 
> first, please read all the content warnings marked at the bottom of the notes for EVERY chapter. this chapter doesn’t matter that much but later on pls do :’D
> 
> my second note goes more in depth about the ships and positions mentioned in the story. all the ships mentioned here are either real ships that are decommissioned or from past history haha, so basically they’re real, i just manipulated them into being what i needed, aka aircraft carriers :^) also, the pilots fly F-22 Raptors, and I’m not sure if they are a jet that lands on carriers (i don’t think they are), but they do here ^^ 
> 
> in addition, just briefly i wanted to mention ranking, which is basically the same throughout all countries but i’m referencing the usa specifically. there’s commissioned and non-commissioned officers, where commissioned officers are required to have college degrees and can receive higher positions than non-commissioned officers that don’t have higher education as a requirement. sorry that’s an awful explanation i definitely do not do it justice so feel free to look it up if you want more info! all the skz characters that are officers in this story have the implication that they are commissioned. 
> 
> finally, all the jobs/politics/operations are made up!! complete fiction :D  
> (oh, and **korean is in italics** )
> 
> enjoy!!

[Location : South Pacific]  
[Ship : HMAS _Melbourne_ (R21), Operating Aircraft Carrier]  
[Event : Visitation from South Korean Military Officials, ROKN]  
[Host : The Royal Australian Navy, RAN] 

Minho doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t working. Throughout his childhood and teen years he worked hard to be the best student he could possibly be - to understand math, science, literature. He became fluent in English early on, which added to his impressive portfolio of knowledge. But, even though he thought he had prepared himself, when he was leaving university with a bachelor's degree in political science and master's degree in international relations he didn’t know what to do. He realized he had no goals past what he had already achieved. 

But then he realized there was a place where all of his talents could be put to use: the military. From the day that thought struck Minho worked without an end to secure a position as an officer for himself, and when settled there, he slowly began to climb up the ranks. 

Now, at thirty-two, he’s a lieutenant commander in the South Korean navy. He’s worked on small aircraft carriers for the past several years that only held helicopters, running the communications and operations departments. He has a reputation, a good one, which has landed him a spot on the new aircraft carrier that is launching in just a few weeks, heading a new international program through the allied countries, the main idea being to secure a global network of weaponry, and in Minho’s case, the ammo is fighter jets. 

Which leads him to now - visiting an Australian carrier to tour around their operations and solidify good relationships with the officers. Minho doesn’t particularly like to smile, but in this case it seems like he must. Especially when he’s being led around by a cheerful blond who has too much sincerity in his eyes to have made it to his rank. 

“On this ship we have catapult assisted take-off and arrested recovery,” Christopher explains, pointing out the window at the wires that cross the short runway. 

Minho squints, observing the equipment. He’s new to the world of jets on carriers, he’s worked on carriers with helicopters and he’s worked on land with jets, but never with jets on the water. He knows that the length of the average carrier's runway is nearly seven and a half times smaller than the runway of a standard airport, and the catapult assist is one of the only ways to get an aircraft to the speed it needs to take off in that short distance. “The _Dokdo_ has the same.” 

Christopher nods at the mention of South Korea’s new carrier. “Have you ever seen a fighter land on a carrier, sir?” 

Minho shakes his head, “I’ve worked with jets briefly on a land base but no, I haven’t seen them land on a ship.” 

“Then come with me,” Christopher says, grinning at Minho. He waves Minho into the next room, where there’s a group of people standing around a display, one with a headset on, and from what Minho can hear he’s communicating with who Minho assumes are pilots. 

“The States sent over several jets last month, F-22 Raptors. Most of them are on land but we have two of the pilots coming in for the meeting tonight and they’ll stay on the carrier for a few days. As of now, they were doing a routine patrol and are running low on fuel so they’re coming down,” Christopher explains, tapping on the screen where two blinking dots grow closer and closer to the ship, the image also projected onto a screen on the wall for better viewing. “Would you like to see a Raptor land?” 

Minho’s lips quirk up as he nods, as Christopher’s smile too contagious for even him to block out. 

Christopher leads him to a window with a clear view of the runway. Minho hears the buzz of air control routing the jets and then the crew out on the deck clear to the sides, all having heard a transmission through their headsets that the aircrafts are coming in. 

The first jet touches down, rushing down the length of the runway towards the other end of the ship so quickly that Minho’s heart picks up. But before he can blink the tailhook of the aircraft catches onto the arresting wire making the jet catch and slow immediately. _“Holy shit,”_ Minho breathes, slipping into Korean, his eyes wide. He’s only seen a handful of fighter jet ground landings, and is nowhere used to the adrenaline rush that comes with this, even just watching. He can't imagine what it must feel like to the pilot.

“Watching this takes some getting used to,” Christopher says, having noted Minho's reaction, “for my first year working on a carrier I would tense up every time a jet landed.” 

“I understand why,” Minho says, laughing a bit. He watches as the crew quickly unhooks the line and clears the jet to move. It taxis off, past the building and out of Minho’s sight. 

He’s tuned out the noise of the communications behind him as he watches the second jet line up out over the ocean, touching down just like the previous aircraft. Minho winces when the tailhook catches and slows the jet, and Christopher laughs at Minho's expense from beside him. After it has been cleared the second jet taxis as well, leaving the ground crew to clean the wing of the ship. 

“How many aircrafts do you currently have on this carrier?” Minho asks as they’re walking away from the window, back towards the stairs to the lower decks. 

"We have ten right now,” Christopher tells him, “eight being our own and now the two American jets. So not many, but thankfully there isn’t a pressing need to have more.” 

Minho nods, keeping pace with him as they descend the stairs to the first deck. “Where are you taking me now?” 

Christopher pushes open the main door, leading Minho onto the deck, and when Minho looks up he can see the jets that had been mentioned are angled in a row along the airstrip. 

He spots the two American aircrafts easily - the one closest to them, the one that had landed first, is swarmed by mechanics, hoses going to the fuel tank. The pilot is standing a few yards in front of his aircraft with his helmet held by one arm against his waist. He’s tall, probably taller than Minho, and holds himself with what Minho can only see as respectability. 

“That’s Wonderland,” Christopher says, pointing at the pilot. “I’ve met him a few times before, nice guy.” 

Minho nods, eyes moving from the pilot to the second jet, watching the canopy lift off and as the mechanics move a ladder to the side of the aircraft. A man climbs out, and as he steps down the ladder he takes off his helmet, a feat Minho wouldn't consider possible. The pilot nods to the crew chief while slipping on a pair of aviators, matching Wonderland’s, and then walks over to him, the pair falling in step with each other as they cross over to the doors. 

“The second is Parker,” Christopher says, following Minho's gaze. “They’re both exceptional pilots, and a bit...bold, as well. Especially Parker. Their rank is lieutenant.” Minho observes them as they come closer, noting that the second pilot, Parker, holds himself with dignity like Wonderland, but also with a great amount of confidence. Minho fails to realize until it’s too late that he and Christopher are the only people in dress uniform on the deck, naturally making the two American pilots gravitate to them. 

They come right up to Christopher and Minho and stand at attention, saluting, and then let their hands drop when Christopher nods. “Wonderland, Parker. How was your flight?” 

“The flight went well, sir,” Wonderland says, sliding off his aviators and tucking them into one of his breast pockets. “As reported there were no discrepancies in our rounds.” 

“Good. As you can see, the South Korean officers arrived safely.” He nods towards Minho. “Lieutenant Commander Lee Minho, ROK Navy.” 

The two pilots salute Minho, Wonderland’s face blank and respectful while a tiny smile curls at the corner of Parker’s lips, his eyes still hidden by his aviators. Minho gives them a nod, though put off my Parker. “It’s good to meet you…” 

Wonderland straightens further, “Lieutenant Samuel Hwang, United States Naval Aviator.” 

The second pilot snaps to attention. “Lieutenant Peter Han, United States Naval Aviator.” 

Minho dips his head, watching them both relax. “Lieutenant Commander Lee is the international liaison for ROK’s new aircraft carrier,” Christopher says, and the lieutenants nod. “Perhaps you’ll be seeing him again soon somewhere else in the Pacific. That will be discussed in the meeting this evening. As of now, it’s almost midday, so go eat,” Christopher says, shooing the two men. They salute and then hurry off, in the direction of the doors opposite the ones Minho and Christopher had come through. 

“Are you coming, sir?” Christopher asks, making Minho snap out of his daze, where his eyes had been following the two pilots. Minho nods, following Christopher back inside. 

The remainder of the day passes quickly, and soon it’s time for the meeting that will define the status of Minho’s job. 

Minho rarely gets nervous but as he sits in a large meeting hall, officers trickling in and taking their places around the table, he can’t help the slight tremble to his hands. He’s a junior officer by many years to most of these officials and he can’t help but feel the cultural barrier between him and the others. 

Just as the meeting is about to commence the door opens one last time and the two American pilots step into the room, Parker sitting down at the table while Wonderland stands against the wall behind him. Minho frowns slightly, not expecting this show of rank, especially since both men are lieutenants. 

“Welcome,” the commander leading the meeting says, nodding to the officers. “As you’re all aware we’re meeting today to further discuss the plans for an international weaponry network. Given that the past few years all of our countries have seen attacks from an operating revolutionist group, an idea has been brought up, bringing to light the possibility of a sort of rotation of units, in our case naval fighter jets. Groups of them would be shifted around according to the danger level and would managed by the country they fall under, though their own country has rights to veto any action they don’t want their pilots taking part in.” 

“We have two pilots from the United States,” the commander continues, gesturing to Parker and Wonderland. “They’ve been sent over to monitor the development of this program, and will be going further up north eventually.” Minho hums quietly, maybe they’ll be up to South Korean airspace soon. “Lieutenant Han, could you share your view?” 

“International operations are difficult,” Parker says, studying the grain of the table between making eye contact with the officers. “To pull one off successfully the whole crew needs to be in sync. Bilingual operations are harder still, if the translation team isn’t prepared everything will go downhill fast. For a rotation program like this to work a lot of time and effort must be put in, and everyone, the officers and pilots alike, have to find a middle ground, as our countries all operate differently.” 

“What about international liaisons?” the commander looks over at Minho. 

“I agree with Lieutenant Han,” Minho says, glancing over at the pilot who is silently studying him. “Translators can be unreliable, that’s why the international liaison position was created. For a carrier to run without hitches while hosting international pilots, there has to be a whole team that is eligible to work in English, in our case.” 

A second commander cuts in, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “And are you eligible for the job, Lieutenant Commander? You’re quite young to have such a position.” 

Minho’s temper blazes but he forces himself to stay calm. “My age, sir, has no correlation to my educational background or the work I do. I think it would be unwise to judge character just from a single trait, sir, or you would be offending several officers at this table, not just myself.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Christopher hide a laugh behind his hand while Wonderland snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, and Parker’s lips curve into an amused smile. 

The man scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “You.” He gestures to Parker who raises an eyebrow. “You’re young, what have you done so far in your career, Lieutenant? Why are you in this meeting at that rank?” 

Minho’s mouth drops open at the gall of the officer, and to extend his surprise, instead of telling the man off, Parker leans forward so he mirrors the commander’s position. “Nearly two years ago there was an attempted bombing over Europe, sir. I believe you would remember that time?” The officer nods, eyes narrowed. “The 27th Squadron flew that day, stopped over three aerial attacks and prevented thousands of deaths.” 

“I remember that day, everyone does,” the man huffs. 

“Good. Then you can say you met the lead pilot on that squadron’s operation.” Parker stands up, adjusting his collar. “Am I too young to have shot down four of the seven eliminated jets and prevented major population reductions over Europe, or should those events have been played out, so that you, sir, don’t have to worry about a fickle young pilot like me?” 

The whole table is gaping at Parker by the time he turns to leave. Wonderland raps his knuckles on the table once when Parker is through the door, snapping their attention away. “It’s best not to judge someone before you know their value, if their worth exceeds your own.” He sends the officer a grin. “You’re lucky that it’s just me here and not our squadron, sir. We don’t take kindly to people who insult our command.” With that he spins on his heel and exits the room, following Parker down the hallway. 

The meeting doesn’t last long after the pilots’ exit, just a few rushed words of thanks and then Minho is finding himself alone again, going through paperwork in Christopher’s shared office that he kindly let Minho use. Some peace after the hectic discussion. 

~ 

Minho has never slept particularly well. He’s a bit of an insomniac, and finds that during the night ships are quieter than the daytime. It gives him a sort of comfort, being able to walk around in the dimly lit halls, looking at the dark sky out the windows, and only bumping into a few people. 

It’s been a day since the meeting that ended so abruptly and Minho is looking forward to his return to Korea. He has a few days left, packed with meetings for the international project. 

Minho begins to get a headache so he heads to the galley, intent on getting some water to drink. When he arrives the room is mostly dark, just a few lights shining in from the hallway and the glow of the exit signs casting light. 

Minho finds a paper cup and pours himself some water out of the water cooler. He’s leaning against the wall beside the water cooler when footsteps approach and enter the room. Minho looks up to see the American pilot - Parker - with his hands in his pockets and a tired expression on his face. 

When Parker notices Minho he salutes him and then passes by, heading further into the galley. Minho deems it an interaction that will go nowhere so he downs his drink and drops the cup in the garbage bin, heading for the hallway. 

“You know, you don’t have to be stingy,” Parker calls, making Minho stop in his tracks and turn. Minho watches the man open one of the freezers, pulling out a carton of neapolitan ice cream. He sends a coy smile to Minho as he opens a drawer, taking out two spoons and tapping them against the lid of the container. “Hm?” 

Minho bites down on his bottom lip, considering. 

“Stealing ice cream from an Australian ship,” Minho hisses, glaring at the pilot who is sitting in the chair opposite him. 

The corner of Parker’s lips quirk up. “If you’re against the idea of eating something that has been offered up to us guests, why are you sitting across from me now, sir?” 

Minho narrows his eyes as he watches Parker scoop a spoonful of ice cream out of the container. What possessed him to sit down with this American lieutenant is beyond him, but here he is in the dead of night eating ice cream with the pilot. “Don’t talk back, I outrank you,” Minho vaguely threatens, but digs his spoon into the strawberry section of the dessert, showing little follow-through. Parker just laughs and the sound makes Minho tense up. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a strawberry ice cream guy,” Parker says after a few minutes, watching Minho eat several scoops of the flavor. 

“And what would you have guessed?” Minho asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hm, chocolate,” the pilot says, staring hard at the almost-empty container. “Yeah.” 

Minho shrugs, setting down his spoon and watching Parker finish off the ice cream, rejecting the last bites the man tries to leave for him. 

They clean up in silence, Parker throwing away the container while Minho cleans up the spoons. He feels Parker’s eyes on him as he washes the utensils, and can’t help but shiver at the intensity of his stare. 

“Why the navy?” 

Minho nearly startles at the sudden question but pulls himself together and turns, drying his hands off with a paper towel. “Why did _you_ join, Lieutenant?” 

Parker snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “With order comes a kind of freedom. The military encompasses order, but they also have the authority to put me up in the sky, where I’m alone and free.” He looks down briefly and then back up at Minho and he notices the warm shade of his brown eyes. “I can’t ask for much more than that, can I?” 

“I suppose not,” Minho murmurs. 

Parker leans against the wall and his eyes lock with Minho’s. “It’s lonely though, this job. It would be nice to be able to breathe. But that’s one of the things I can’t ask for.” Parker smiles at Minho like he hasn't just switched up Minho’s world. “Get some sleep, sir. You look tired.” 

Minho watches the lieutenant disappear into the hallway, lips parted in shock. _Lonely. Not being able to breathe. Trapped._

Who is this man that has pulled out his secrets? 

~ 

“Lieutenant Commander Lee.” 

Minho looks up to see the pilot, Parker, standing in the doorway. It’s been a day since the meeting in the galley and Minho’s head is still reeling. “Yes?” 

Parker takes a few steps forward until he’s a few shoulders lengths down the rail from Minho and peers over the side of the ship at the dark waves lapping against the carrier. It’s night again, and Minho has found his way to one of the bridges of ship control tower to observe the sea. “Australia. What do you make of it?” 

Minho narrows his eyes. “Why do you want to know?” 

Parker glances at him, his eyes reflecting the light of the lamp above the stairwell door. “Because I like hearing you talk.” He rests his forearm on the rail, turning to fully face Minho. “Australian accents are nice and all but I like yours more.” 

Minho hardly blinks as he processes the pilot’s words. He doesn’t know what to make of this - of this flirtation. He’s been so caught up in his military life for the past several years that he hasn’t even stopped to think about any type of relationship other than those with work colleagues. It’s never been the right time. Or maybe he’s not the right person for the emotions of a relationship. 

“What do you mean to say, Lieutenant?” 

Parker tips his head just slightly, peering at Minho with a tiny smile playing on his lips. He looks horribly smug and Minho almost wants to slap him. “I have no ulterior motive, sir.” 

_“Aish, this kid,”_ Minho scoffs under his breath, watching intrigue flicker in Parker’s dark eyes. Suddenly a thought hits him and he grins a bit. _“You have absolutely no idea what I’m saying,”_ he says with perfect diction. _“I could be bad-mouthing you.”_ He almost flinches at the deepening intensity of Parker’s gaze. _“I could be, but you sit there looking at me like I’m the next wonder of the world. Why are you watching me like that?”_

“Oh come on, you’re just teasing me,” the lieutenant huffs. 

Minho laughs, and then furrows his brow as he sees Parker’s eyes widen and shock overtake his expression. “What?” 

“You laughed,” the pilot says, in awe. “I’ve only seen you smile a couple times, you like to pretend to be cold, don’t you?” 

Minho blinks, growing nervous. He hates any extra attentive attention directed towards him because he’s terrified of letting his personality show, to give away who he was and deep down still is. If he does he’ll be trapped again, he’ll be used again. Icy and detached, that’s him. That’s who he has to be to keep going. 

“Smile more often,” the lieutenant says and his voice is too soft and familiar. “You look so pretty when you do.” 

Minho frowns, still a bit shaken. “Lieutenant, what are you doing?” 

Parker grins. “I’m trying to hit on you by being truthful, sir.” 

Minho’s mouth drops open. “Lieutenant!” 

“Hey, even if you don’t like it, at least you’ll remember me,” he says, winking. Minho grimaces. Who knew that a world-renowned fighter pilot could be so cocky. Everyone knows about the attacks on Europe, how dangerous the operation to stop the opposing jets had been. Minho knew the stories but hadn’t realized how young the leading pilot was. 

As Minho thinks more about it, perhaps Parker’s attitude is a way to deflect critique - a protection of sorts. 

Suddenly the ship passes over a rocky set of waves and it sends Parker stumbling forward and tripping over his feet, falling against Minho. Minho barely has time to grab the pilot’s arms in an attempt to keep him upright but he’s knocked over anyhow, tumbling to the deck with the man landing on top of him. 

“This progressed rather quickly,” Parker says, smirking slyly down at Minho. 

Minho glares at him. “Get off of me, Lieutenant.” 

Parker climbs off of him and stands, offering Minho a hand up which he refuses. “Sorry about that, sir. I’m in the air for hours every day,” Parker explains, “my sea legs sometimes don’t show.” 

Minho dusts off his uniform as he needs a distraction so he doesn't make eye contact. His heart is pounding at a ridiculous speed and he hates himself for it. 

He hears Parker sigh. “Well, I’ll be out of your hair soon. Wonderland and I are heading back to the States tomorrow.” 

“Good.” 

“Well, at least I can say I properly knocked you off your feet,” Peter says with another wink. “Goodnight, Lieutenant Commander.” 

Minho watches him walk off in shock, mind running wild. _“Aish, I'm going crazy,”_ he mutters, turning around and heading down to the bunks, while trying to forget how nice the pilot’s brown eyes are up close. 

~ 

Minho doesn’t sleep. He tries desperately, he’s mentally exhausted from this whole trip, but he can’t manage to shut his brain off. 

Eventually he gives in and around four in the morning heads to the top deck of the control tower where he sits with his back against the rails and stares out to the east. He lets himself think about the trip to Australia, about the information he’s learned and the contacts he’s made. But no matter how he wishes to stop, he can’t help when his thoughts repeatedly turn towards the meetings with the American pilot. 

Minho never fit in at the military academy. He tried at first but was always pushed to the side, so he focused on his studies but then found himself in a massive tangle of horrible bullying and self-hate. Ever since those days Minho has sworn to never become attached to anyone. 

If he does, he’ll only end up with another broken heart. 

It’s been easy to stay distant in the military. Minho is required to act a certain way and talk a certain way. There’s a rulebook for everything, and Minho follows those words perfectly. He’s alone and he likes it. 

But. 

But he can’t remember the last time he was hugged, or the last time he sat down and had a cup of coffee with a friend - which he doesn’t even have. Last night, when the pilot fell on him, was the first time he had been touched other than a handshake or a pat on the back in months. 

Minho’s lonely and he’s known that for a very long time, but it’s funny that it took an American fighter pilot with an exaggerated flirtatious attitude to get him to admit it. 

Lieutenant Peter Han. Parker. Minho scoffs. In all the years he’s been in the military no one has ever spoken to him the way that that man does. If Minho had the authority he would’ve had the pilot reprimanded the minute he failed to take his sunglasses off when saluting a superior officer, that first time they met. But now...now Minho craves the fearlessness the man seems to have. 

Minho shivers, pulling his coat tighter around him and drawing his knees up to his chest. He looks up to see the sun beginning to rise and smiles, watching as oranges and pinks begin to chase away the dark blues of the night, making way for the burning yellow of the sun. 

Getting to his feet, Minho stands straight and salutes the sun, watching as it oh so slowly rises past the line of the ocean. 

When Minho arrives back inside his fingers and toes are numb, so he sets himself out on a mission to find something warm. He’s walking towards the galley to try and swipe a hot drink when he spots a figure coming towards him. 

“Sir.” 

Minho nods, letting Parker drop his salute. “Lieutenant.” 

Parker watches him for a moment, his eyes boring into Minho’s face like he’s searching for something, something important. But he snaps himself out of it and adjusts his helmet that is resting against his hip. “Wonderland and I are leaving. We have forty minutes until our departure.” 

“Oh.” Something inside of Minho wilts. “Well then, you should be going then, Lieutenant.” He steps to the side of the hall, making room for Parker to pass. 

Parker nods. “I should.” But he doesn’t move. 

“Lieutenant?” 

“I think we’ll see each other again,” Parker says, meeting Minho’s eyes. “I’m not particularly sentimental or anything, but I think there’s still more to our story.” He gives Minho a half smile and his eyes are projecting warmth; slowly thawing Minho’s fingers but also the permanent chill in his chest. “I’m glad we met, Lieutenant Commander.” 

Minho forces down a smile and his heart misses a beat for all the wrong reasons when the pilot passes him, walking down the hall towards the entrance to the stairwell up. Minho lets out a breath of air and then steps forward. “Lieutenant!” 

Parker turns at Minho’s call, his eyebrows raising. Minho fights down his embarrassment and hopes his cheeks don’t flush pink. “Fly safely. Godspeed.” 

Parker’s lips quirk up in a familiar smile and he straightens, saluting Minho. Minho returns the gesture and lets his eyes lock with Parker’s for a long minute. It feels like maybe he's conveying his secret concern of safety, because something in Parker's expression makes him feel reassured. When he relaxes, hand dropping to his side, Parker nods at him once and then turns away from him to take confident steps down the corridor and out of Minho’s sight. 

Minho stands frozen in the hallway, his limbs stiff from his extended stay in the cold, still staring down the hallway. He stands still for many long minutes, waiting for what he doesn’t quite know. 

His eyes close as he hears the roar of the first jet’s engines, the sound warping when the aircraft is launched into the air and pierces the sky. The second jet is just as loud, even down through the hangar floors, making Minho’s thoughts mix into a blur, and leaving him winded when the noise fades into the distance. 

And again, Minho is left all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> → [twitter](https://twitter.com/wasatch97)  
> → [tumblr](https://wasatch97.tumblr.com/)  
> → [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wasatch97/)  
> → [curious cat](https://curiouscat.qa/wasatch97)


	2. ROKS-Dokdo Assault Ship (pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i can make minho and jisung fall in love in sixty-three days just watch
> 
> hihihi~  
> i am back with just shy of 16k to the fic you did Not expect hehe  
> i’ve had this finished for a while so yay! posting  
> hopefully i get this up in time for it to be a surprise for @softvoice hehe :D ki i hope i didn’t ruin your opinion of the fic aaah <3  
> anyways, i now have a twitter account it is @wasatch97 !!  
> oh also i made some changes to chapter one so please reread!  
> enjoy~~
> 
>  **cw** : drinking, sexual content, bullying, assault

Six Months Later

[Location : North Pacific]  
[Ship : _ROKS-Dokdo_ Assault Ship, Operating Aircraft Carrier]  
[Event : Liaison Event ]  
[Host : The Republic of Korea Navy, ROKN]

Minho finds himself on the _Dokdo_ just weeks after returning from Australia. Changbin, a lieutenant he’s worked with before, deployed with him and is one of the lead officers in flight control, being especially tied up now that they have a steady flow of aircrafts coming and going off the new ship. Seungmin, another lieutenant Minho has been around, is one of the heads of communications - a quick thinker, proving very useful. Both of the lieutenants are part of the international crew, which is steadily growing as the whole ship becomes versed in English. The international project is still being developed but the _Dokdo_ is ready, and it’s all because of Minho, he admits. 

The commanding officer on the ship, Commander Im, has no interest in the workings of the ship or the other communication aspects, only showing up to the occasional meeting. Minho has taken on the job of overseeing all communications, operations, and international affairs. It’s grueling, doing a job that isn’t meant for him and in addition his own, but he’s taking it in stride and is doing a very good job, although all the credit is to Commander Im. 

Now six moths later, Minho is still running most of the departments. He’s used to it and knows what to expect and by now all the crew members respect him, having learned that although he’s young - just over thirty - he isn’t messing around. 

He isn’t fooling around with the work but he is a fool. He knows he’s being used but he’s too scared to admit it. 

He’s just like he was back at the military academy - terrified of everything but too much of a fool to look for a way out.

~

_“Report.”_

Seungmin sets a few file folders down on Minho’s desk, holding the remaining against his chest. “ _Last night at nineteen-hundred the computer systems were backed up to the mainframe at the base. It went smoothly. The main event today is that the American pilots are arriving, at zero seven hundred give or take, so in just over an hour. There will be four of them, sent to stay with us for nine weeks as a trial test of the international system and further solidify relationships between our countries.”_

 _“Thank you, Lieutenant Kim.”_ Seungmin salutes and exits, leaving Minho alone in his cramped office which is only big enough for a desk and chair, his cot, and a whiteboard on one wall. 

Minho loves it though. He loves the solitude and the quiet, though the ship is never truly silent. But he can hide away in his office to curl up in his desk chair while imagining the sky outside, if it’s just as star-filled as he remembers. He hasn’t had much time to go outside during the night, he’s too busy with reports and scheduled events. 

_“I wonder,”_ Minho murmurs, thoughts drifting back to his time in Australia and the two pilots that were visitors alongside him. 

He shrugs, letting the thought drift away. What a coincidence it would be if Parker was heading the unit arriving.

“Welcome to the _Dokdo,_ ” Minho says, nodding to the four pilots. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Lee, the liaison for international affairs. I’ll be overseeing your stay, including your operations. On this carrier we have an English-speaking air control and landing team, and our crew chiefs speak as well. Not everyone is fluent but they’ll get you around safely.”

“Thank you for playing host, sir,” Parker says, smiling at Minho. “We’re looking forward to our stay here, and let us hope that it is conflict-free.”

After a few more words the pilots disperse, leaving Minho alone with Parker in the middle of the mid-bay hangar where the jets had been lifted down to run maintenance checks. 

“You were right,” Minho says, suddenly scared to meet the pilot’s eyes. “You were right when you said we’d meet again.”

“I was hoping that we would bump into each other again,” Parker says, “not literally, I mean. I believe once was enough for you.”

Minho looks down to hide a tiny smile. “About this trial run, please tell me if anything is amiss. I want this liaison program to succeed, but above that comes you and your men’s safety and comfort.”

Parker nods. “I’ll inform you of anything that doesn’t work for us.” 

Minho nods, letting himself smile just a bit. “I was wondering,” Parker says while adjusting his helmet in his arms, one that is white with red stripes and has his call sign and the American flag printed on the side. “There is a commander on this ship, correct? I believe he was set to meet with us, too?”

Minho nods, an uncomfortable feeling building in the pit of his stomach. “Commander Im was caught up in some urgent business, but he’ll meet with you as soon as he can.”

He can tell that Parker doesn’t quite believe him, with the way his eyebrows furrow, but Minho brushes it off. He doesn’t have the time to pick apart every look Parker gives him. “I have a meeting in an hour but seeing as I held you back from the others, I can show you around the ship.”

Parker’s eyes light up, from the idea of a tour or Minho conducting the tour, he isn’t quite sure. “Lead the way, sir.”

~

A few days pass and the American pilots settle in well. They go to briefings every morning, which Minho mainly leads, and they’ve become acquainted with the liaison team. They even start to get to know the Korean fighter pilots and Minho occasionally catches them together in a large group in the galley. Minho’s glad that everything is going good, and is also beyond relieved when Commander Im finally drags himself out of his office to meet with the foreigners, the whole affair happening several days after their initial arrival. Though they’re both doing their jobs Minho can’t help but feel embarrassed for the commander, for the navy, and for himself when the man takes over the leadership of a few of the morning briefings; coming not at all prepared, fumbling around with the papers and presentation, stumbling through broken English, and constantly looking over at Minho for prompts and cues. 

On the days where those meetings take place Minho can’t shake the feeling of Parker’s eyes on him. He knows the feeling well by now, every once in a while when they’re in a room together Parker will catch his attention from wherever he’s sitting as he blatantly observes Minho, yet somehow carefully. But during the commander’s briefings Minho feels like he’s under study, and it increases his anxiety ten-fold. 

It’s obvious - Parker’s attracted to him. And Minho tries to put himself in denial but he knows he’s attracted to the pilot as well. And it’s not just for his looks - it’s for his amusing wit, his intelligence. For his multi-sided personality. 

If Parker looks for Minho in a room, Minho is doing the exact same thing. 

“Sir?”

Minho vaguely hears the door of his office opening and then Parker’s voice, but his head is pounding so hard that he can’t make any noise aside from a grunt. 

“I had a question about the flight plan for t—are you okay?”

He hears the door close and then Parker’s footsteps drawing close, and soon the pilot is standing to the side of Minho, observing him as he rests his head against the wood of his desk. “Anxiety, stress, migraine, or all three?”

Minho laughs quietly but the tiny shift makes him want to scream out in pain, his head burning from his fearsome headache. “All of them.”

“I can’t do much for your anxiety and stress right now, but I can help with your head. I’ll be back.” Minho winces as the door slides open and closed.

No more than five minutes later Parker returns, setting down a glass of water and a bottle of pain reliever on Minho’s desk. He sits on the edge of Minho’s desk, watching him closely as he downs a few of the pills, like he’s making sure Minho goes through with taking care of himself.

“Why didn’t you call one of your subordinates to get you anything?” Parker asks nearly half an hour later when the ache in Minho’s head is subsiding. The pilot is slumped against the wall, still seated on the desk, and is watching Minho with those stupidly warm eyes. 

Minho sends him a pointed look. 

“You don’t want anyone to see you vulnerable, do you.”

“Never,” is Minho’s reply, and he picks up a pen to fiddle with it, his anxiety surfacing. “Vulnerability is a death sentence.”

Parker huffs out a laugh. “Must be why I’m such a bitch. When you have subordinates who look up to you, you can’t be yourself, huh?”

“No,” Minho murmurs, staring at the pen. “Can’t be yourself when you don’t know who you are, either.”

“Amen.”

~

The next day at dusk Minho goes off duty, and seeing as he doesn’t have commitments until the next evening, he decides to drink. 

He goes to the second deck of the comm tower and slips through the narrow walkways along the side of the building to where the storage containers have been set. He climbs over one of the metal crates and spots a clear space between two containers. Minho climbs down and sits with his back against the wall, staring out at the ocean that’s a mix of deep blues and black. 

He’s completely hidden, as far as he knows no one ever comes down to this end of the tower, let alone in the night. With the wall behind and the large crates on either side of him he’s protected and safe. But, by the time he’s downed one of the three bottles of beer he’s brought he hears footfalls on metal - the sound of someone approaching.

“Sir?”

Somehow Minho isn’t surprised that this man found him. 

“Peter Parker,” Minho slurs, feeling the effects of the alcohol already. “I figured out your call sign. Your secret’s exposed, Spider-man.”

“Are you…” Parker - Peter, as Minho’s foggy brain tags him - trails off, the corner of his lips lifting at Minho’s intoxicated rambling. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

Minho grimaces, raising the beer to his lips and taking a swig, elbow brushing the already empty bottle beside him. “You’re so…” he trails off, trying to come up with the English word he’s looking for. 

“Handsome? Talented? Brilliant?” Peter grins at him. 

“Obnoxious!” Minho cries as Peter jumps off of the crate and lands next to him. “You’re obnoxious, Lieutenant Han.”

Peter laughs as he sits down and takes the bottle from Minho’s hands, the paper of the bag hiding the label crinkling under his fingers. Raising it, he takes a long drink, hissing when he swallows. 

“I didn’t give you permission to drink with me, Lieutenant,” Minho chides, and his reaction slowed by the alcohol even as he pokes his pointer finger against Peter’s chest. “What if you take advantage of me?”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “You seem to have put some thought into the development of...foreign relations.” Minho finds himself snorting and rolling his eyes, which must have been the desired effect because Peter grins at him. “Would you like me to go, sir?”

Minho is struck by the sincerity in his voice, baffled by the parallels this man keeps showing. One second he’s teasing and the next he’s honest and considerate. “I drink alone.” Peter hums, going to set down the bottle but Minho cuts him off. “I drink alone, but tonight I want to drink with you.”

Peter’s resulting smile is small. “It gets lonely being alone sometimes, doesn’t it.” 

Minho takes the beer from the pilot, playing with the edge of the paper bag before taking a drink and handing it back. He lets his mind wander back to his years in the military academy as the alcohol warms his chest, and suddenly he finds himself speaking. 

“I studied in London,” Minho says, thinking back to years ago. “It was an exchange program in university. I really liked it, but I was always the outsider. Then my mother died and I came back to Korea to finish school. Once I did I decided to go into the military. I had no other family so it was really my only option.” He frowns. “The academy where I trained...I was at the top of my class and some of my peers got it in their heads that a pretty boy shouldn’t get top marks.” Minho sneers at the memories of the bullying. “They would go out and drink most Friday nights. Out behind the barracks.” Minho picks at a seam in his pants that crosses his knee. “I got so lonely that I went out once, was the worst decision I ever made.” He scoffs, tugging at a loose thread. “They took their turns playing around with me, they took advantage of me because I was a stupid, stupid twenty-two year old who had nothing except a desperate need to be needed.” Peter winces beside him and his hand makes a fist on his thigh. “They used that night as leverage and turned me into a slut.” Minho’s head thumps against the metal sheeting on the wall when he tilts it back. “They spread rumors that I slept with the officers to get to the top. Eventually I got fed up and I couldn’t let myself be known as the whore, not anymore. So I became better. Stronger, faster, smarter. Graduated two years later at the top of my class and never looked back.” He looks over at Peter to see that the pilot’s expression is calm, but there is fire in his eyes when he turns to stare back at Minho. “I always drink alone.”

Peter stays silent, handing Minho the bottle and watching him drink. Minho looks out at the black ocean, at the trail of moonlight that dusts the tops of the waves. It’s pretty, but at the same time haunting.

“About a year ago I was at the height of my career,” Peter murmurs while bringing his knees up to his chest. “I was the orphan that managed to scrape together a degree to become a commissioned officer, at least that’s how I was known in flight school. But then I built a reputation for myself, I became the best of the best, and that only was solidified with the operation over Europe. I was doing so well, some people even thought I might be up for a promotion. But about a month or so before the official release of names a group from my squadron was on an operation over the upper west side of the States. There’d been a few ground attacks and six of us were up patrolling, all the runways were closed and no planes were flying, the country’s airspace was shut down. We got a radio check that said they thought there was a plane going up over in Connecticut so I took it, I told my left that he should stay with the others.” Peter grabs the bottle, taking a gulp. “It took not much more than a minute to get to Connecticut, and just when I did a pair of fighters were up against ours over in the west. I flew back at mach five, hypersonic, but before I did the attack was over. The man I told to stay behind—well. He lost his jet and had to eject. We flew over until he was recovered - he hit the trees, was impaled. Died instantly, they said. One thing to be grateful for.”

Minho winces and his heart plummets faster than it ever has before. He watches as Peter’s eyes glaze over, from the grief and the alcohol. “There was no threat in Connecticut,” Peter laughs, an edge of anger to counter the sadness in his voice. “No plane. It was a fluke. If I had stayed to cover him or if he had come with me…If I had been smarter one of my men wouldn’t have died. A man who trusted me with his life every time we went up in the air.” He takes another drink, making a face as the beer burns his throat. “I had to tell his wife that her husband died. That if I hadn’t left his side she would still have a family. Her daughter would have a father.” Peter lets out a shaky breath and Minho watches as tears well up in his eyes. “I went on trial, I wasn’t supposed to fly above mach three and I pulled too many g’s, they don’t like more than four on the average, g-force is a tricky bitch. They stripped my application for promotion to lieutenant commander but let me keep my squadron position. Surprisingly they didn’t blame me for the death, just said it was an unfortunate accident.” He drinks again. “But I did. I couldn’t get myself to fly after that. I couldn’t step foot on the base without freezing up.”

“What got you to go back?” Minho asks, and he keeps his voice as gentle as he can. His heart is breaking for this man. 

“I realized I had nothing to lose. I could go up and not care about getting hurt, unlike the people around me.” Peter taps a fingernail against the neck of the bottle. “No family, no ties. Nothing to get attached to. Keep my allies close but still far away. I’m smart, quick, and disposable. The perfect soldier.”

Minho’s heart wrenches and he grabs Peter’s hand to link their fingers. A voice inside of him is telling him he’s being far too reckless but Peter’s clammy palm against his and the smell and taste of beer in the air and on his tongue is almost comforting. 

Peter stares at their hands. “I don’t know what to tell myself now, though.”

“Hm?”

Peter laughs quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of Minho’s hand. “Somehow, I think I’m getting attached again.”

Minho shudders, reaching over and taking the bottle to knock back the remainder of the liquid. He grabs the third bottle, popping off the cap and handing it to Peter, who drinks. 

“We’re both pretty broken, aren't we,” Peter says. “All we have is the military.”

Minho nods, taking the drink when it’s offered. “We’re both alone. Alone in this overcrowded fucked-up world.”

Peter watches Minho as he drinks, his face shrouded by the shadows. “I’m not a fool, right? It’s not just me who feels whatever it is between us.”

“No,” Minho says. His voice low as he stares out at the black ocean, and though he tries to appear calm his mind is racing and at the same time he’s trapped in a dense fog. “I feel it too. But you’re a fool for wanting it. We both are.” 

Peter hums, “We’re big fucking fools, then.” 

Minho looks over and scoffs, drinking again before handing the beer to Peter. 

“What do you want from me, sir?” Minho looks over at Peter who’s staring at the bottle now in his hands, pointer finger brushing over the hangul on the label. “‘Cause right now you can have anything.”

Minho’s mind turns blank at the pilot’s words. There’s so much he wants from this man, all things that can only end in pain. But his body betrays his mind as he reaches over and grabs the collar of Peter’s suit, pulling him close. 

“Don’t remember this in the morning.”

Peter nods, his large eyes glazed just like Minho’s, and then they’re kissing, desperation and lust caught between their lips. 

There’s no finesse as Minho tugs at Peter’s bottom lip with his teeth, running his tongue over the skin for relief. Peter finds his way into Minho’s lap, the bottle of beer clinking when it’s set down and forgotten on the ground, as Minho’s tongue slips into Peter’s mouth. The pilot’s knees rest against the sides of Minho’s hips, his hands cupping Minho’s face as their kiss turns into a mess of heat and saliva and desperate need. For touch, for understanding, for anything that they can give.

Minho’s breath hitches when he feels Peter untuck his button-up, his fingers sliding under the fabric and brushing against his skin. He retaliates by finding the zipper of Peter’s flight suit and pulling it down, revealing his dark blue shirt underneath, dog tags clinking as the fabric is shifted. Peter breaks away and moves around so he can pull his arms from the sleeves, the fabric falling loose around his small waist. 

Minho meets the pilot’s eyes, receiving a nod, and then he slowly pushes Peter’s shirt up, revealing inches of tan skin. When his shirt is fully discarded Minho trails his fingers over the planes of Peter’s chest, tracing the muscles of his torso. He’s pretty, Minho’s clouded mind decides, with the silver of his tags standing out against his darkened skin, the tan deepened by hanging shadows.

Peter lightly bats his hands away as he goes for the buttons of Minho’s shirt, undoing each with fumbling fingers. Minho shivers from the slight breeze when Peter opens his shirt, revealing his chest. “Lieutenant—”

“Just Peter,” the pilot says, one hand curling around his waist at the base of his ribs while the other cups his cheek. 

“Just Minho,” Minho returns, hands landing on Peter’s bare biceps. 

“Minho,” Peter whispers, mapping a trail of kisses down Minho’s chest, each placed carefully as to make him whimper, nails digging into the pilot’s skin. “Minho.” 

“Mm.” Minho’s back arches when Peter grinds down on him, his hands quickly moving to the pilot’s ass, pulling him closer so he’s sat right on Minho’s growing erection. “Peter…”

“You like this, don’t you,” Peter whispers, pressing down on Minho who bucks up, both men hissing at the friction. “The possibility that we might be caught.” 

Minho whines, fingertips turning white from where he’s desperately holding onto Peter’s waist, growing light-headed from the surge of intense emotions and feelings. “You’re no better,” he grits out.

“You’re right.” Peter grabs Minho’s chin, pulling him into a rough kiss, too much tongue and teeth for it to be considered anything but dirty. 

Minho is painfully hard by now, rubbing against the material of his briefs. Deciding to be a shit he slips his hand down the back of Peter’s suit and into his boxers, grinning when he feels the pilot’s breath hitch as Minho’s finger circles his entrance, the tip dipping past the muscle just slightly, enough to make the man on top of him squirm. 

“No fair.” Peter’s voice is a whine as his hips stutter forward. “You’re playing dirty.” 

Minho smirks, dragging his lips along Peter’s jaw to tug on his earlobe with his teeth. “Hm?”

“First, you’re sitting so I can’t get to your ass.” Minho laughs. “Second, now I really want you to finger me but I don’t have anything on me and I’m not about to use spit. That shit hurts.” 

Minho kisses down his neck as he pulls his hand out of Peter’s suit, moaning when Peter rolls his hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Gonna make you come in your pants like a horny teenager.”

Minho shivers at the jab. “What are you waiting for?”

The pilot grins, leaning in, and Minho instantly tenses up.

“I bet you’d like my mouth on you, wouldn’t you, sir?” Minho whimpers, his arousal peaking as Peter grinds down on him. Peter seems to revel in the noises he’s drawing from Minho, smirking haughtily at him. “You’d like that, all warm and wet, watching me on my knees for you, my lips around your dick.”

Minho shudders, his nerves going haywire. Almost unknowingly he pulls Peter down. “I bet _you_ would like it if I fucked your pretty mouth, until your voice is gone and all you can remember is my name.”

It’s Peter’s turn to whine, fingers tangling in the fabric still clinging to Minho’s shoulders. Minho smirks, dragging his teeth along Peter’s collarbone to the base of his neck, nipping at the fragile skin there, enough to make Peter shift in his lap but not enough to leave a mark. 

“God, I want your fingers in me so bad,” Peter whispers, lips right by Minho’s ear. His hand travels down to their erections, passing over his own to cup Minho’s through his slacks. “Opening me up all nice so you can fuck me. Can you imagine? The feeling of being in me, the noises I would make. Can you see my face when you mess me up and make me yours?” His breath brushes the shell of Minho’s ear. “Can you picture my expression when I come moaning your name? Can you imagine the feeling of filling me up? And then watching your cum drip out of my ass?”

Minho’s body is on fire, Peter’s words nearly sending him over the edge. “Peter—”

Peter kisses him, Minho moaning into his mouth when Peter drags his hand over his erection, teasing him through the fabric. “Come on, sir,” he whispers against Minho’s mouth, “I know you want to come, Minho.”

Seconds later Minho comes with a cry that’s muffled by Peter, the inside of his briefs immediately becoming sticky and uncomfortable. He pants heavily as he comes down from his high, watching blearily as Peter moves back, adjusting his position so that he can get off against Minho’s thigh. 

Minho’s attention is immediately caught and he watches the pilot ride his thigh in a kind of awe - noticing the way perspiration on his tan skin makes him shine under the faint lamplight and how his face scrunches up as he gets close. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” Minho whispers unconsciously, one of his hands moving to land above Peter’s knee. “So pretty, just for me. All for me to see, all mine.” The moment becomes intimate and personal in a flash, but Minho doesn’t find himself caring. “My pretty pilot, always putting others first.” He touches Peter’s cheek, making the man look at him. Peter’s pupils are blown wide, lips puffy and cheeks pink. 

He’s beautiful. 

“You did such a good job taking care of your _hyung._ Making me feel so good.” He leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “Let go, Peter. For me.”

He comes as if on command, Minho kissing him to cover his moan. Peter slumps forward, pressed up against Minho as his breathing stays rapid. Minho rubs his back and kisses the side of his head, easing him out of the rush of emotions, and after a moment he helps Peter move to sit beside him. 

Peter speaks a minute later, still winded but able to form complete thoughts. “I’m thirty and I just came in my pants.”

Minho snorts. “I’m thirty-two and I feel like I just reverted back to my teen years.” He looks over at Peter who’s still out of breath, chest rising and falling, but not at a worrying speed. Minho scoots closer so that he can rest his head on Peter’s shoulder, exhaustion beginning to tug at the corners of his vision. 

Several minutes pass and he knows he’s in over his head when Peter’s arm wraps around his waist, his thumb slipping under the fabric of Minho’s open shirt to rub circles into his skin, just above his hipbone. 

It’s terrifying how much he loves the intimacy of the moment with this man. 

It’s only further solidified when Peter cups Minho’s cheek with his free hand, eyes locking with Minho’s in a silent question of consent, and then kisses him carefully and so gently, like Minho means the world to him. Minho is the one who rests a hand on the warm skin of Peter’s chest, pulling him back into another kiss, a simple close-mouthed kiss that means too much.

“Don’t get attached to me,” Minho whispers when their noses are barely touching, breaths mingling. “Because then I’ll get attached to you and you’ll have to fly knowing someone needs you to come back.”

“I think we both know it’s too late,” Peter whispers back, their lips brushing again. Minho chases the brief touch, addicted to his lips. “Alcohol or not.”

Minho plays with the fine hair at Peter’s nape, his eyes fluttering shut when Peter’s thumb drags down his jaw, kissing him again and again with careful touches. He knows it too late for them too, but it feels okay to try and deny. 

But he knows he can’t for long.

When Minho falls into bed later that night he had hopes that he would instantly fall asleep. But he can’t, he can’t do anything but count the ceiling tiles above his head and listen to the sounds of the carrier, noise even during the middle of the dark night. 

He feels the ghosts of Peter’s hands on his body, remembering how even during their rush of want, Peter treated him carefully, gently. 

Minho rolls onto his side, pulling his blankets up to his chin. 

He doesn’t know what to do, not when he’s so obviously becoming attached.

~

Kang Minjun. Minho’s high school crush. 

Minho had his nose in a book even back then, and he was labeled the nerd of the school. But then he hit puberty and people started to notice him, all because of his face and body. He didn’t know what to think when his classmates suddenly took interest in him so he began to ghost everyone. It was working okay until he bumped into Kang Minjun.

Minjun had helped him up off the floor, adjusted Minho’s glasses, and gave Minho a gentle smile. It was enough of a gesture and look to completely capture Minho, making him fall helplessly for the boy. 

Minjun was quick to notice Minho’s hardly conspicuous stares, and he approached him not long after to ask him out. Minho agreed, overjoyed, and spent the next two weeks in absolute heaven as Minjun took him on cute dates and held his hand in school. But inevitably, the relationship was finished at the end of the second week, with the simple words, _‘It was a dare.’_

Minho let himself cry for one day and then swore to never cry again. It worked alright until he received a call while he was studying in London, saying that his mother had died from a heart attack. 

That day he cried rivers. 

But now there’s Peter Han - the man Minho can’t help but watch out of the corner of his eye, just like he did Minjun back when he was a foolish teenager. All things considered, not much has changed. He’s just as foolish to have developed such an affection for the pilot as he has in such a short period of time.

Peter spends most of his time in the air, patrolling and training with his men. Minho forces himself not to stand around the communications desk, listening to Peter’s voice over the radio feed, and instead completes his work diligently. But his thoughts sometimes drift to Peter when he’s alone in his small office, remembering the kisses they shared that night.

At the end of the second week of the American pilots being on the _Dokdo,_ as childish as it sounds, Minho’s glad he hasn’t heard the words, _‘It was all just a dare, Minho-ah.’_

~

“Lieutenant? I just came from the galley and you seemed to be mid-meal.” 

Peter shrugs and falls into step beside Minho. He had been on his way to the ship control tower where he likes to sped his breaks, at one of the top points of the ship with his face in the wind. “I eat with the guys every day, and I’ve hardly seen you in the past couple of weeks. It’s an obvious choice.” 

Minho blushes but doesn’t give Peter the satisfaction of seeing his pink cheeks; instead he stares straight ahead as they climb the final staircase. “I didn’t know I could be pleasing company. I’ve heard the rumors, the ones that say I’m rather icy.” 

Peter laughs as he holds open the door to the deck to let Minho pass through. The wind hits them immediately, making Minho grab his cap and stick it into his belt as they walk towards the railing to peer over the edge of the deck. Below, the jets are lined up, glimmering silver under the cloudy sky. 

“I come here a lot,” Minho says, looking over at Peter. “I guess seeing everything from above relaxes me. I like the wind, too.” 

Peter turns towards Minho, his smile already giving away that he is up to no good. “Have you ever watched _Titanic,_ sir?” 

Minho narrows his eyes. “What are you playing at, Lieutenant?” 

Peter suddenly climbs over the rail onto the ledge on the outside, taking a few steps to find his bearings before stretching out a hand towards Minho. “Do you trust me?” 

Minho stares at him, wide-eyed, in shock and horror. “Lieutenant, get back over here!” 

Peter grins at him while shaking his head. “With the wind flow speed you’ll only get blown backwards, not to the side. The ledge is wide enough not to cause any issues.” At Minho’s expression he sends him a gentle smile. “I swear to you, Lieutenant Commander, I won’t let you fall. I have no plans of letting you go and I’m not about to start now.” 

Minho’s lips part, a blush turning his cheeks red at the pilot’s words. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he whispers as he reaches forward to take Peter’s hand. 

Peter helps him climb over the rails and somehow Minho ends up in front of him with his back to the cabin of the tower, standing on the part of the ledge that extends further out. Peter is right, there’s about two feet of the ledge on either side of Minho, the space making him feel a bit better. “You know the iconic scene, hm?” Peter asks, his lips brushing the shell of Minho’s ear so he can hear over the rush of wind. 

“You’re an idiot,” Minho replies, and receives a laugh in return. He can’t help the shy smile that tugs at his expression. “And why would I be Rose?” he asks as Peter slips his arms around him, holding him firmly from behind.

“Because Jack thought Rose was beautiful,” is Peter’s reply. Minho freezes up, his whole body warming with the heat of affection, whether it’s Peter’s affection for him or his affection for Peter, he’s not sure. “Therefore, I’m Jack and you’re Rose.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Minho whispers, hands coming to rest on top of Peter’s, against his stomach. 

“I would never lie to you.” Peter’s hands carefully take Minho’s to slowly raise them to the side, and not minutes later Minho’s arms are stretched out like he’s a child playing planes. Peter’s hands drift from his own back to Minho’s waist, letting Minho feel the wind for himself.

Minho’s eyes flutter shut, his head tilting back just slightly as he immerses himself in the push of the wind. Peter’s arms are around him again, keeping him tethered to the earth, seemingly the only thing holding Minho back from the sky. 

“How do you feel?” Peter asks, his words coming out as nothing more than a whisper in the strength of the wind. 

Minho smiles. “Liberated.”

Instead of an answer Minho feels the press of a kiss just behind his ear, and a shiver runs through him - whether it’s from the chill of the wind or Peter’s affections he isn’t sure. When he feels another kiss to his neck, just above the stiff collar of his jacket, he turns in Peter’s arms, his hands finding their way to the curves of the pilot’s cheeks. 

“I think I could be Jack and you could be Rose too, Lieutenant.” Minho whispers, watching as Peter’s eyes widen just so. “And I could never lie to you, either.”

And Minho pulls him closer and kisses Peter’s smile. And then they’re kissing but they’re both smiling, their giggles making it impossible to properly kiss. What exactly they find so amusing Minho doesn’t know, but when he pulls away to see Peter’s eyes glimmering with laughter and joy, it doesn’t seem to matter at all. 

Not as long as Peter continues to look like that. 

Happy. 

~

Days pass quickly after the _Titanic_ moment on the top deck. Peter finds Minho and they either walk the halls together or just talk in Minho’s room usually once or twice a day. 

They’ve exchanged backgrounds - Peter, as he briefly mentioned on the day they drank, grew up in an orphanage and struggled to make it to college and get a degree. Not because he isn’t intelligent - he’s one of smartest people Minho has ever met - but because he had no support. Peter, like Minho, is a loner, and pushes people away before he can get attached. 

Minho tells Peter about growing up with a single parent and fighting for a scholarship to study abroad and to chase his dream of becoming fluent in English for more job opportunities. He tells Peter about his mother’s death, and how he’s been alone ever since, scared to get close to anyone again. 

It’s nice having someone to confide in. 

They sometimes eat together and occasionally go back up to the top deck, but their jobs take up most of the time. They’ve found time a during a couple of evenings to spend brief amounts of time together in Minho’s locked office, but the pillow talk Minho wishes they could have is always cut short. 

But perhaps even more satisfying than getting off together are the moments after, when Peter looks at Minho with such tenderness that he can hardly believe is real. Something in their relationship shifted that day on the deck. There’s no alcohol this time to bar them from the truth - they’re exactly what they each have been missing. 

~

Late one evening, nearly five weeks after the American pilots first arrived, the ship’s scanners pick up unidentified aircrafts. They’re too far away to pin immediate worry on but Minho checks their status every half-hour. 

Early in the morning, before the sun is up, the aircrafts breach the navy’s extended pattern. 

_“What do you mean our pilots are down?”_ Minho glares at the poor ensign reporting to him, who can’t be more than twenty, but the agitated look is to hide his nerves that are going haywire. 

_“Sir, they hadn’t received confirmations from the commander on if they had an op today so they all took to drinking last night. They...aren’t capable of piloting at the moment.”_

Minho passes a hand over his face in disbelief. He understands the need for the occasional drink, he really does, but the whole squadron getting wasted and now hungover? _“What does Commander Im say? He’s heading this operation, last I heard?”_

The ensign nods. “ _The commander said he’s sending the American pilots up.”_

Minho freezes.

_“Sir, you’re sending the American jets up on this mission? This is a ROKN operation.”_

Commander Im brushes past Minho into the briefing hall, leaving the lieutenant commander to trail after him like a loyal dog. _“Our jets are grounded and theirs aren't. Simple solution, really.”_

_“Sir, this isn’t just an easy exchange, they’re ally forces, we don’t have the authority to give them commands like this. The liaison unit hasn’t cleared anything with the American government.”_

_“Exactly,”_ Im says, _“they’re our allies. Our problems are their problems. And right now there’s a threat against us, which is therefore a threat against them. They’ll go up.”_

 _“If our pilots weren’t loose with the drinking, we wouldn’t have this issue,”_ Minho hisses, just as the doors to the hall slide open again.

Commander Im doesn’t seem to notice the people entering the room because he continues to glare at Minho. _“Lieutenant Commander, you seem to forget that I am your superior. This is your last warning before you’re off this operation. The American jets are going up, no questions asked.”_

Minho schools his features into an empty look and steps to the side. His shoulders are still taught and he feels anger prickle under his skin as the heads of the crew and the four American pilots find seats around the table. He hates looking like the bad guy but this is far from a good idea. The whole situation is a disaster, and he knows that in some way it can be handled better than blindly sending ally pilots up to investigate a threat aimed at the South Korean navy. 

The briefing starts off fine, basic statistics are gone through. Minho watches the commander, keeping track of every move he makes. He knows everyone is additionally on edge because of the tension between him and the commander, so he tries to stay out of the conversation as much as possible, sitting to the left of Im quietly, focused on the files set in front of him. 

It’s going just fine, up until he snaps. 

_“We’re sending the Americans up, fully armed. I want those aircrafts investigated now so we don’t have the time to reequip missiles, we’re using the ones from yesterday’s practice op. We’ll deal with the consequences if there are shots fired.”_

Minho cuts in before the translator can speak. _“Fully armed with unchecked missiles? Do you hear yourself, sir? You’re endangering the American pilots and using uncleared weapons, if these jets were ours we wouldn’t have clearance to do that. What if our higher ups hear about this? What if the United States’ military does? Sir, if the squadron hadn’t been out drinking last night, we would have our own forces.”_ He stands up, hands landing palm down on the table top. _“This is abuse, sir, a use of your position to change the gameplay.”_

The commander grits his teeth, grabbing Minho by the collar and raising a foot to kick him in the shin. The pain is just as horrible as Minho remembers from the times he would get beaten up in the academy, and he bites down hard on his lip to stop any noise of hurt from surfacing. 

He’s suddenly caught in all the memories of his torture. Tacks in his boots and pigment in the laundry that dyed his uniform red. The whistles directed towards him as he was groped in front of his peers. All the jeers and derogatory comments thrown at him in the halls, and all the punches that reigned down on him every time he fought to get to the top. 

Minho’s drowning in memories. 

_“Listen to me when I talk to you, Lee! Get your shit and get out of this room.”_ He’s shaken by the words, falling out of the trap in his head, and though he wants to cry he steels his expression while tugging his collar out of the commander’s grip and picking up his cap from the table. On shaky legs he crosses the room and is just about to step out into the hallway when he hears Peter’s voice. 

“Before the officer leaves, I believe we deserve a translation. After all, we are the ones agreeing to this operation when the liaison program hasn’t been solidified, which means we have say.”

Minho turns around, his heart thudding painfully. Peter isn’t looking at him, instead at the commander, one of his eyebrows raised. Im huffs, glaring at the pilot, but nods to the translator as he’s out of options. 

The translator timidly looks around, caught in the middle, but is still quick to speak. “The commander said that they were going to send the jets up fully armed, with the missiles from yesterday’s operation. The lieutenant commander said, ‘Do you hear yourself, you’re endangering the American pilots and using uncleared weapons, if these jets were ours we wouldn’t have clearance to do that.’ He said, ‘What if our higher-ups find out about this? Or the American military? If the—’”

 _“That’s enough,”_ Minho says, cutting the translator off and sparing his military further embarrassment. 

Peter’s gaze drifts from the translator to Commander Im, and then finally to Minho. “As I see it, my men would be doing you a great favor by going up,” he says, looking back to the commander. “Therefore I believe we have a hand in deciding what happens.” Minho narrows his eyes at the pilot, not knowing where he’s going with this. “And as our squadron leader, my word is our law.” He rests his hands on the table top, tipping back just slightly in his chair. “So, bearing that in mind, I have two...requests.”

Minho has to fight a smile, Peter’s upper hand amusing him even though it shouldn’t. 

“First, our missiles are checked and cleared before we go up.”

The commander grumbles under his breath, but it was to be expected. _“Fine.”_

Peter nods when he receives the translation. “Secondly, you have to understand. My men trust me, and I trust them. I would never put them in a position that I felt was…compromised from the start.” Peter rests his left hand on his helmet. “So, we’re not going in the air unless Lieutenant Commander Lee is heading the operation. Those are my two conditions.”

Minho’s jaw drops, completely flabbergasted. _“What are you doing,”_ he whispers under his breath, eyes jumping from the pilot to the commander, who looks furious once he hears the translation. Minho’s stomach churns, both he and Peter will be in deep trouble if they go through with dropping a senior officer. “Please, reconsider your request,” Minho says, stepping further into the room. “Commander Im has years of experience in naval aviation and communications. It would not be wise to give up his guidance.” 

Peter shakes his head and his eyes lock with Minho’s. There’s a type of ferocity and confidence in his gaze that makes Minho shiver. He’s understanding why Peter is the squadron leader and is so recognized among his peers. He’s not just an accomplished pilot - he’s a brilliant strategist and leader. “I trust that you have the clearance to lead?”

Minho takes a shallow breath and nods once. “I do, Lieutenant.” 

“You are the international liaison, correct? Fluent in English?”

“I am, Lieutenant.”

“And you have a sound mind?”

Minho nods again. “I do, Lieutenant.”

Peter gives him a half smile, but his expression is anything but playful. It’s an understanding between all pilots and crew members - each operation is a toss of dice. Each life must be protected. “Lieutenant Commander, my squadron’s lives are in your hands.”

Minho breathes out slowly, gaze moving from Peter to the other officers. Commander Im lets out a scoff of disbelief before storming from the room, his footsteps ringing heavy in the hallway. 

Minho walks back to the table, setting down his cap and flipping open the first file set on the table-top. _“I can handle it from here,”_ he says to the translator, who nods. Focusing on the four American pilots, Minho restarts the briefing, first speaking in English and then again in Korean for the other crew members. 

“At nineteen hundred hours last evening we received transmissions of a pair of unknown jets headed towards our location. We assume them to be multirole combat aircrafts.”

“We have theories that the revolutionist group from past years is gaining momentum again after nearly a year of inactivity, but we can’t be sure of that yet. The goal of this operation is to report their alliance if you can and turn them around,” Minho says. “Do not fire unless fired upon.”

Minho’s gaze drops to Peter who’s watching him with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Missiles will be reequipped within twenty minutes, your departure time is zero five-hundred hours.” 

At his words the crew stands, saluting him. 

Minho catches Peter in the hallway, before the pilot can leave for the deck. “Lieutenant.”

Peter looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Minho purses his lips, suddenly feeling exhausted. “You just got me in a lot of trouble, Parker.”

“This isn’t favoritism,” Peter says with a low voice, keeping their words private. “I only recommended you because I know you’re more capable of handling this mission.”

“I understand,” Minho says, but anxiety is gnawing at him from the inside. “We’ll bring you back, Lieutenant.”

Peter nods once, and his expression is wiped clean of anything other than seriousness. “I know you will.”

Minho has seen Peter take off and land, but he’s never truly seen him in action. He’s heard the stories, as has everyone around the world, about the 27th squadron and their victory in the European airspace. When that operation occurred many people believed that the States would show off their pilots, but instead they seemed to keep it under wraps. Maybe for the protection of their officers, or maybe Peter didn’t want the glory. Minho has never heard him talk about it aside from the time in Australia and the time they were drunk. It’s a bit of a mystery, but if Peter wants to keep it quiet Minho will let him by all means. 

It’s obvious to anyone that Peter isn’t just any aviator when he’s flying. His patterns are detailed and the way he communicates with the other pilots and the _Dokdo’s_ crew is precise and orderly but relaxed, still. Any trace of playfulness is stripped from his voice as the American pilots draw closer to the untagged aircrafts, clearly knowing when to draw the line of professionalism; they’re playing with ever-burning fire. Minho’s grown to respect Peter on the ground, but now he respects him in the air, as well. 

_“The pilots are fourteen nautical miles out,”_ the lead air control operator says, and Minho looks up at the screen on the wall displaying the jets - the incoming aircrafts marked in red while the American jets are marked with black. Next to them are two visuals, the gun cameras of Bravo-Juliet, Peter’s jet, and Delta-Delta, Wonderland’s jet.

“T-bone, Wonderland, break left and swing around, get behind them. Rebound and I will meet them head on.”

Minho watches as two of the jets cut out of the four-finger formation, curving off to the right as Peter instructed. 

“Bravo-Juliet two-two-one to _Dokda_ control, we’ve got two multis on our hands. Thirty-fives.” 

The information is quickly broadcasted onto the screen under the map, listing the typical weapons the F-35 Lightning carries and their predicted flight patterns. The information is relayed back to the pilots as well. 

_“What’s your next move,”_ Minho wonders, arms crossed as he watches the jets draw closer and closer. They’re just a few miles from each other and everyone in the room is tensing up from anticipation.

“Parker, I have a feeling they’ll want us to break.” 

“Yeah, they do,” Peter responds. “Get on my wing, we’ll break hard at two hundred. T, Wonderland, what’s your position?” 

“Give us two minutes and we’ll be six hundred feet behind them.” 

“We’re at four hundred feet. Ready, Parker?” 

Minho watches Peter’s feed, breath catching as the jets go almost nose to nose before Peter and Rebound cut up and to the right, perfectly synchronized. 

“They’re not spooking.” 

“Nah, they won’t so easily,” Peter replies, his camera view turning. “Wonderland, T-bone, flank them. Rebound and I will be on your wings shortly.” 

The first pilots fly up and flank the two 35s, pressing in on them. Peter flies over T-bone’s wing, waiting for a reaction, and as Rebound flies up to Wonderland the left 35 cuts down out of the formation. 

“Rebound, Wonderland, keep on that jet’s tail. Don’t lose him. T-bone, you and I’ll go after the one that broke.”

Not a few seconds pass before another transmission goes through, T-bone. “The Lightning looped, he’s behind me. Parker, get him off!”

Minho can see in Peter’s video feed the Raptor being tailed by the 35. “On it.”

“He’s gone for missile lock.” T-bone’s jet rocks as he tries to avoid the radar. “Fuck, he has me locked, Parker, where are you?” 

Everyone in the room is tensed up. “Bravo-Juliet to control, I’m behind Echo-Alpha and requesting missile lock to get the Lightning off.”

Peter’s cleared and then he swoops down behind the 35, and only a few seconds pass before he’s locked in on the jet. 

“He’s spooked,” Peter says, the 35 cutting off towards the other, the two layering and then turning. “They’re clearing out. Good job, boys. T-bone, how you holding up?”

“Missile lock isn’t the best thing ever, Parker,” the pilot laughs, a little winded. 

Peter chuckles. “Bravo-Juliet to control, we’ve turned the thirty-fives around and are headed back.”

The crew cheers, a round of applause going through the room. _“They're amazing pilots,”_ an officer comments. _“And the way that Lieutenant Han locked onto the jet so quickly, that takes skill.”_

Minho smiles to himself, feeling proud. And then it hits him - he’s proud of someone. He’s always fought to be the best but now he’s proud of another person for being that. Minho grins. 

_“Sir, we have a big problem.”_

Minho turns to the voice, spotting a man at the weather radars looking over at him. _“Fog is setting in. The ship will be buried in an hour, tops. The jets have to be grounded now.”_

Minho lets out a harsh breath, playing out all his options and then choosing the likeliest one. _“Someone get Lieutenant Seo in here!”_

Changbin is out of breath when he arrives in the control room. He salutes Minho, awaiting his orders. 

_“As of now I’m placing Lieutenant Seo as lead air officer and landing signal officer. We cannot mess this up, those are American pilots we sent up on a South Korean operation.”_ Minho makes sure everyone in the room flinches are his tone. _“Those jets need to be on the deck within the hour and with no damage. Do you understand?”_ They all chorus ‘yes, sir.’

Minho nods once, turning to Changbin. _“Get those pilots on the ground safely, Lieutenant Seo.”_

The runners leave the room, headed for the deck, and Changbin along with the other air officers that are part of the liaison team grab headsets. 

_“We have Delta-Delta four-one-two at five nautical miles, coming in for a direct entry,”_ an officer calls. 

_“Let him come,”_ Changbin says, peering out the window at the fog beginning to roll in. _“Chief Petty Officer Kang, give me the second.”_

The petty officer is quick to speak. _“Lima-Foxtrot nine-four-seven is left downwind for entry.”_

 _“Location,”_ Changbin says, clicking hurriedly at one of the computer screens in front of him.

_“Ten, sir.”_

_“Okay, reduce his speed and put him on deck after Delta-Delta. Alert ground.”_

Minho turns away from the air control desks, knowing Changbin has it covered for now, and crosses to the board on the opposite wall where the information they have learned from the operation is stacked. It’s hardly anything - countless countries use multirole thirty-fives, and as far as he knows there wasn’t clear identification of affiliation. 

_“Lieutenant Commander sir, there’s another problem.”_

Minho looks over at the petty officer who is standing a few feet away, shifting nervously, _“What is it?”_

 _“The fog has almost fully set in._ ” He points to the window main window. Minho frowns upon seeing that the deck is nearly covered in thick white mist. _“And one jet hasn’t landed. The squadron leader. He put all of his men on the deck before him.”_

Minho is standing in an instant and rushes over to air control, quickly grabbing Changbin’s attention. _“Status report.”_

 _“Bravo-Juliet two-two-one has yet to land,”_ Changbin says, while pressing on his headset to hear a frequency clearer. _“The fog is heavy, nearly too heavy for any landing. The second negative is that the jet is nearly out of fuel. The pilot won’t have time to get to the next nearest carrier that isn’t under weather warnings, not when he’s running on vapors.”_

Minho feels himself pale. “ _Lieutenant Seo.”_ Changbin looks up at him, and Minho can see the nervousness written all over his features. “ _Lieutenant Seo, can you land this aircraft?”_

Changbin lets out a shaky breath before nodding. “I can, sir.” 

Minho gives him a single nod. “Then do it.” 

Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen Changbin as focused as he is now. The officer is immune to any noise aside from the transmissions in his headset, typing and mapping out distances as each second ticks by. 

When the jet hits five nautical miles the transmissions are added to the speaker feed, and the whole room seems to gravitate to the communications desks, listening to the relay. 

Minho’s heart flips in nervous circles when he hears Peter’s voice coming out of the speakers, he’s suppressing it well, but inside he’s beginning to be truly terrified. “Bravo-Juliet two-two-one to _Dokdo_ air control, lined for a direct descent, four point seven nautical miles.” 

Changbin replies quickly. “Bravo-Juliet, you’re clear for direct descent.” 

Peter’s voice comes again half a minute later. “Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control, two miles.” 

“Bravo-Juliet, when you’re ready, call the ball.” 

A few seconds pass of tracking Peter’s position before Changbin speaks again. “Bravo-Juliet, call the ball.”

There’s a few seconds of static before the transmission picks up. “Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control with clara. Flyover requested for reapproach. The fog’s so dense I can hardly see the ship.”

The air in the room gets thicker as the crew members all tense up. Changbin adjusts his headset, a tick of anxiety that Minho hardly ever sees from the lieutenant. “Bravo-Juliet, flyover for reapproach cleared. Report your fuel level.”

“Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control, I have two point three.”

Minho frowns at the number, the jet needs to land. He looks out the window and almost gasps at seeing how deep the fog is on the deck. His anxiety spikes higher. 

“Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control, right downwind for teardrop entry.” 

Changbin nods, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead to ease a stress-induced headache Minho is sure he has. 

“Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control, turning base.” 

Another few seconds pass. 

“Bravo-Juliet to _Dokdo_ control, final at four nautical miles.” 

Changbin watches the tracker grow closer and closer to the ship, and when the jet is less than a mile out he speaks. “Bravo-Juliet, call the ball.” 

The room goes completely still, so quiet that Minho can hear the breathing of the men beside him. Everyone is running on pure adrenaline and stress, the possibility that this landing might go wrong is high. 

The silence ticks on for a few long seconds before Peter’s voice cuts through the air. “Bravo-Juliet, Raptor ball.”

There’s a resounding cheer and Minho feels a smile pull at his lips, looking over to the windows. He can hear the faint noise of Changbin clearing the jet further but Minho is focused on the silver aircraft cutting through the fog, finally touching down. It’s lights gleam red in the mist as the crew in fluorescent jackets remove the arresting wire and allow him to taxi. 

Minho lets his eyes close for a brief second, beginning to breathe freely once again. All the Americans are grounded and safe. Peter is grounded and safe. 

When Minho steps into the debrief room the pilots are already there, all looking exhausted. Minho steps up to the front of the table and rests his papers on it, letting out a sigh of relief and exhaustion. “Good work, everyone. To our ground crew, the air control officers. This was a hard bilingual op.” He gestures to Changbin and the others. “And thank you,” he bows in the direction of the four fighter pilots. “We put you in an awkward and dangerous situation, with both the operation and the weather conditions. You have my deepest apologies in all those regards. I also thank you on behalf of ROKN for your flight today.”

“Thank you for getting us back on deck,” Peter says, nodding to the crew. “Good work.”

A petty officer bursts into the room, catching all attention and halting any more conversation. He salutes Minho, waiting for his call.

_“Yes, officer?”_

_“It’s the base commander, sir. He’s requesting an immediate conference with Commander Im, you, and Lieutenant Han, the American pilot, in the third level meeting hall.”_

Minho’s heart drops. “ _Thank you. Dismissed.”_ He turns back to the table, meeting Peter’s eyes. 

“It’s time to go receive our repercussions, Lieutenant.”

They walk down to the third level in silence, their footsteps in sync. Minho’s leg is aching from the kick he received earlier and he knows that he’s bruising, but he hasn’t had a second to find some ice. 

“You said I got you in trouble? Is this your hearing?” Peter finally asks. Minho knows he’s looking over so he nods. “Anything I should know?”

“Yes. Don’t take blame onto yourself, it’ll make this go worse.” Minho glances away from their boots and to him. “I’m going to be punished no matter what you say, Lieutenant. I dropped a senior officer from his operation.”

Peter’s mouth drops open and he pauses midstep, bouncing awkwardly back on his heel. “But I was the one who forced the ultimatum, it’s my fault if anything.” 

Minho slows to a stop as well. “There’s no room for improvisation in ROKN. If something that happens isn’t scripted into their rulebook they mold the event to fit. In this situation there was a factor, your ultimatum, that gave us no choice. But to them it looks like I took over an operation from a senior officer who was unwilling to leave.” 

Peter gapes at him. “That’s not fair. I have to say something, I pushed you into this.” 

“And what,” Minho says, his temper flaring up, not because of Peter but because of the situation and his exhaustion and fear. “Say that you trusted a junior officer more than an officer with thirty years of experience?” Minho lets out a breath, trying to calm himself down. “Just stay quiet, Lieutenant. If not for your own sake, then do it for mine.” 

“Sir,” Peter grabs Minho’s sleeve before he can turn away and drags him back down the hall and into one of the bathrooms. 

“What are you doing,” Minho hisses, standing flush against Peter in the cramped space. 

Suddenly Peter’s arms are around him, pulling Minho into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against Minho’s neck, and Minho shivers when he feels the tickle of his hair against his jaw. “I’m sorry that this is happening but I can’t regret it. I know I made the right call putting you as the head of the op.” 

Minho tentatively sneaks his arms around Peter’s middle, relaxing almost immediately when they’re in each other’s hold once more. “I don’t regret it either, Lieutenant. It’s...It’s not a secret that I’ve been running most of the departments and operations ever since this ship launched. I know what I’m doing around operations, like today’s, because of that. Because I let myself be used over and over.” 

“Sir…” 

“There’s nothing else for me in this world besides my job, Lieutenant,” Minho whispers, “it’s all I know. I’m in so deep that there’s no escape for me. This is all I have - when you’re this alone there’s nothing else to do other than work.”

“Look at me.” Minho pulls back at the command, meeting Peter’s shiny brown eyes. “Minho.” 

Minho flinches at the use of his name, this time without the buffer of intoxication. “Lieutenant—” 

Peter shakes his head to quiet him. “When was the last time someone other than me called you by your name, and not as a full introduction?” 

Minho stands frozen. He feels sick when he realizes he can’t; for years now he’s only been addressed by his rank. “I can’t,” he whispers, his eyes filling with tears. “I can’t remember.” 

“Minho—” Peter catches Minho as he crumples to the floor, and he sets him on the ground gently. “Minho, talk to me. Trust in me. I’m here for you, I’m right here.”

Minho closes his eyes when he feels Peter’s fingertips on his skin, trying to push away his tears. “You’re the only one I can trust,” he murmurs, sniffling. Peter hums, trailing his fingers through Minho’s hair. “I’m nothing,” Minho finally whispers. “I have nothing besides this routine of work, the same thing every day. I don’t have interests, I don’t stop to get to know people. I have absolutely nothing in this world, I have nothing to live for. I’m so fucked up, Peter.” 

“We’re both fucked up, we’ve both been through so much.” Peter squeezes Minho’s hands. “And it feels like we’re far from human, but look at me.” Minho tentatively looks up, barely seeing Peter through the ocean of tears in his eyes. Peter cups Minho’s cheek, and his own eyes are watery. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re so intelligent and beautiful and secretly kind, you make me smile and laugh every day, every time we talk. You make me feel like I’m worth something in this fucked up world, like I matter.” Peter’s lips press against Minho’s, a single fragile touch. “Yes, you’re an officer. Lieutenant commander. But most importantly you’re Lee Minho.” Peter tips up Minho’s chin, brushing away more of the tears that won’t stop coming. “Lee Minho is the part of you that makes me feel alive. All of the other shit I am is brushed away and I feel like I can be just Peter Han again.”

Minho pulls Peter forward and kisses him through their tears. “You’re the only thing making me human, Peter. Like I’m not something made to be abused. God, you make me h-happy.” The word breaks as it leaves his lips, and a fresh wave of tears dampen his cheeks. “And I haven’t been happy in a very long time.”

Peter lets out a shaky breath and presses their foreheads together. He’s on his knees, curled protectively over Minho who’s tucked into a ball under him. The room is silent aside from their breathing, both of them masters of silent crying after years of hurt. 

Minho closes his eyes, bringing their four hands together to rest over his heart. He’s terrified of this moment ending but he’s also terrified of it not. Their lives are just outside the bathroom door, fast-paced and with no time to spare. 

“We have to go,” Minho whispers, letting go of one of Peter’s hands. 

Peter nods and kisses Minho once more, but lets himself be pushed away after it ends, and helps Minho to his feet. 

“It’s okay to be scared when I’m with you,” he whispers and kisses the back of Minho’s hand. 

Minho nods. It’s never okay for an officer like him to be scared. It’s dangerous if he is. But Peter provides a protection Minho has never had - emotion. Peter works with statistics and logic too but unlike Minho, he also has the weapon of pathos. 

“Keep me safe, Peter,” he murmurs after they’ve dried their tears. He folds down the collar of Peter’s flight suit into its proper position. 

Peter smiles at him, straightening Minho’s cap and brushing his fingertips over the medals displayed against the black material. “Don’t worry, Minho.”

But then Minho pushes open the door and whatever happened in the bathroom is washed away as they fall into the flow of people in the hall. It sweeps them off, and when they’re standing outside the meeting room door, Minho feels the hope he had gained in that brief moment crumble and turn to dust, leaving him expressionless and empty. 

He doesn’t feel human. He just feels normal.

When they enter the room Minho leads Peter to stand in front of the projector screen that is already set up, saluting the base commander. 

“I’ve been briefed on the events of today,” Commander Cho says, looking over the three men who have been joined by a translator for Peter, as Commander Im isn’t fluent in English. “Lieutenant Commander, I believe you know what you did will not reflect kindly on you.”

“I understand, sir,” Minho says, noting out of the corner of his eye how Im is glaring fiercely at him. “I am ready to take responsibility for my actions, but first I want to sincerely apologize to Commander Im.” He turns to the older man and bows deeply, feeling shame burn him from the show of weakness. _“I ask for your forgiveness, sir, and I hope that I will in time make up for my actions.”_

As Minho straightens, he hears a slight cough coming from his side. Peter is standing with his arms crossed, looking properly put out. He has the attention of everyone in the room, including the commander on screen. “Sir,” he salutes Cho, who nods at him. “Sir, I am not sure who gave you a rundown on what happened today, but it has to do with my choice. I chose Lieutenant Commander as lead. I forced an ultimatum.” 

“I’ve heard,” Cho says, “but that does not distract from the Lieutenant Commander’s choice.” 

Minho can tell Peter is getting angry, simply from the way he stiffens. “Sir, if I may, I wouldn’t have made my choice if we weren’t put in the position we were; ROKN pilots were drinking last night, and though I have been assured he is beyond capable, Commander Im suggested things that did not bode well for my men.” Minho’s eyes widen at the blatant dislike Peter shows, and doesn’t dare glance at Im when he receives the translation. “So, sir, I have plenty to report back to the United States, regarding the position of your liaison team here. I would just like to know that we are both clear on what happened, don’t you think?” 

Minho wants to sink into the floor. He told Peter not to do something like this, this will go over terribly. 

“Lieutenant Han, are you threatening me?” Minho winces, but when he looks up at the screen, Commander Cho looks amused more than anything else. 

“I wouldn’t dare do anything of the sort, sir,” Peter replies, but he’s caught on to the commander’s tells and is more relaxed. “I’m just asking that you don’t penalize those who don’t deserve it, sir. But I’m sure you wouldn’t.” 

The commander scoffs, leaning forward on his elbows. “I like you, Lieutenant. If you ever switch up nationalities I’d very much enjoy having you on our crew.” 

Minho can’t help but gape at the screen. 

_What is happening._

“Thank you sir, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Anyhow.” Cho focuses in on Minho. “Lieutenant Commander, you did defy a senior officer. For that the fact that our pilots were handicapped and could not fly will reflect under your name, not Commander Im’s.” Minho nods, easily accepting it. “Aside from that, the operation went well so this is a slap on the wrist. I’ll remember it, though.” 

“Yes, sir,” Minho breathes, saluting the commander who nods to them all before ending the call. 

Still shocked, Minho turns to Peter who is looking at him already, slightly amused. Minho wants to punch him and kiss him, but he can’t do much more than follow Peter to the door. 

_“Wait a moment, Lieutenant Commander.”_

Minho flinches at the sound of Im’s voice. Peter looks at him, concerned, but Minho does nothing more than smile and gesture for him to go on. “I’ll stay with you,” he says, but Minho frowns and shakes his head. Resigned, Peter nods but looks far less than happy about it. “I’ll find you later,” he murmurs, and Minho wishes he could just lean in and kiss him.

“Okay.” 

The door slides shut behind the pilot and then Minho is all alone to face his fears. 

_“Lee.”_

Minho looks back at the commander, shivering at the anger in the man’s gaze. “ _Yes, sir?”_

 _“Oh, shut up, Lee,”_ Im hisses, stalking towards him. _“You’ve pissed me off from the start, you know that? I hear what they say around here, that you’re the one doing all the work. You should have a little more respect for your command than just letting them say those things.”_

 _“I,”_ Minho goes to speak but is cut off by a quiet cry when Im rips his cap off and tosses it aside so he can grip him by the hair. “ _Sir,”_ his breath is cut off when a knee collides with his gut. 

It sends him crashing to the floor and not moments after him side hits the floor he gets a kick to his ribs and Minho has to bite down on his forearm to stop the cry of pain that escapes him. Im seems to savor it, seeing and hearing Minho in pain, and he gives him one final shove with the heel of his shoe and then walks out.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Minho lets himself cry.

“Knock knock.”

Minho looks up from the computer where he’s typing up the final reports for the operation. He feels a little better, having used quite a few of the pills from the container Peter had brought him all those days ago. Now, Peter is standing in the doorway, a crooked smile on his face, and he has his hands behind his back, so obviously hiding something. Although numb by the pain he’s still in, Minho is happy to see him and quite curious. 

“Lieutenant,” Minho says, smiling. Peter makes him feel so much brighter. “I’ve seen you now three times in one day. Is that a record?”

Peter laughs and walks the few feet forward. “This time I thought it would be nice to have a little while just to ourselves.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, “I see.”

“Pick a hand,” Peter says, interrupting. At Minho’s unamused look, he rolls his eyes. “I know you’re interested. Come on.”

“Fine, right.”

Peter pulls his right hand out from behind his back, showing Minho a small chocolate bar. “A pick-me-up. Thought you could use one.”

Minho laughs, “Thank you.” He takes the chocolate from Peter, trying not to wince at the movement, and sets it next to his keyboard. “What’s in your other hand?”

Peter reveals his right hand, showing him a bag of ice wrapped in a dish cloth. “For your leg. I saw you limping a bit after our meeting with the big guys.”

Minho bites his lip, looking down. He’s embarrassed that he was publicly humiliated and that he went against a senior officer’s orders. But now it’s worse - Peter will notice something is wrong with him and then Minho will have to admit that he was beat up.

Peter’s fingers creep under his chin to tilt his head. “Please show me,” he urges, his eyes a now familiar comforting deep brown. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Minho grudgingly rolls up his pant leg, revealing the ugly purple and green bruise. Peter winces, crouching in front of his chair to get a better look. “Holy shit, Minho.”

Minho looks away, his embarrassment heavy in the air. 

Peter places wrapped ice against the bruise and then takes an ace bandage, wrapping it around his leg to hold the ice steady. “Is that okay?” Minho nods, and as he does he winces, a fresh wave of pain hitting. Peter notices immediately. “What is it?” 

Minho looks away but Peter’s eyes have gone dark, dangerous. “He hit you again, didn’t he.” 

Minho’s eyes clouding up is enough of an answer. 

“I shouldn’t have left you in there with him, I’m so fucking stupid,” Peter’s hands run up and down Minho’s thighs and Minho can tell he’s trying to control himself from wreaking havoc. 

“You had no choice, I know you wanted to,” Minho whispers, carding his fingers through Peter’s dark hair. “I’ll be okay, too, my stomach is sore and I think I have a bruised rib but that’s it.” 

Peter suddenly stands up and Minho flinches, eyes widening as he leaves his side. Peter walks to the door and Minho is immediately filled with fear; is he leaving? “Are you going?” His voice is so thin. 

“I was going to get more ice.” Oh.

“Please don’t leave me,” Minho whispers, and the words seem to unlock something inside of him because next he feels tears begin to fall. Peter twists the lock and then closes the shades, hurrying back to Minho after he completes the two tasks. Very carefully, he scoops up Minho, settling onto the bed with his back against the wall, and Minho situated between his legs. 

“What are you doing, Lieutenant,” Minho whispers, curling closer into his arms. 

“Holding the subject of all my affections while he’s injured,” Peter murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of Minho’s head. 

“This is highly improper,” Minho mumbles, but there’s no bite to his words.

“Like what we were doing the other night right on that desk was proper,” Peter teases, making Minho flush red and swat at his hands. 

“You should’ve blocked those memories out.”

Peter rests his chin on Minho’s head, running his fingertips up and down Minho’s arms. “I can’t forget a single second that I spend with you. And you know that.” 

Minho smiles against Peter’s shirt. He’s too far in over his head, yet he doesn’t regret anything. “We’re attached.”

“We’re attached,” Peter repeats. “We’re attached and I’m glad.”

Minho smiles. 

“Minho?”

“Yes?”

Peter takes Minho’s hands to play with his fingers, running his thumbs over Minho’s knuckles. “We’ll never have a traditional life together.”

Minho nods, knowing he’s right. “I know.”

“I don’t know if we’ll even be able to contact each other much, if at all. Personal foreign mail making it onto a ship like this?” They both laugh quietly, but the joy is stripped away. 

“So, is this a hookup, or are we going to be something that lasts?” Minho whispers, already knowing the answer. 

They’re both bound to the military - a life that is barren. Neither of them are free to settle down and have a family, and that’s not who they are, can be. They’re both too caught in what they do to have domesticity. 

This could never work for most people - a relationship crossing nations, a relationship where they’ll never know when they’ll see the person they care for again. If they’ll see them. But for Minho and Peter, two people who have nothing aside from their jobs and each other…

“We’re something that’ll become long-lasting.”

...it works. 

It has to. 

“Minho?”

“Hm?”

Peter tilts his head up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I never said thank you for leading the operation. If it hadn’t been you...if you hadn’t put together your air control team with the officers you did I don’t think I would have made it onto the carrier.”

“Don’t say that,” Minho whispers, a hand curling into the olive green fabric of Peter’s top. “I - I can’t think about that possibility.” _The idea of losing you hurts too much._

“Okay.” Peter kisses from Minho’s cheek to his jaw, arms wrapping around his waist to keep him close. “You’re so pretty.”

Minho blushes and pokes Peter’s chest. “Tell me about the other pilots’ call signs.”

Peter picks up on the diversion but doesn’t say anything about it. “Well, mine you figured out. A play on my name.” Minho smiles, nodding. “Rebound’s pretty obvious too.”

“Poor guy,” Minho says, giggling. 

“Yeah.” Peter kisses a path over Minho’s temple. “Sam is Wonderland because some of the guys found a video of him in a grade school performance dressed as Alice from _Alice in Wonderland.”_

“And T-bone?”

Peter snorts. “Well, in one of his training missions he dropped a short range missile on a cow.”

Minho bursts out laughing, a hand flying up to hide his mouth and the other pressing against his stomach to try and ease the pain the movement brought. “What the hell!”

Peter chuckles as he leans back to watch Minho laugh. Minho notices his gaze and flushes, tipping forward to hide his face in Peter’s neck. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I wish you knew how perfect you are.”

Minho’s grasp on Peter’s shoulders tightens. “I’m not perfect.”

“You are to me. And don’t say that’s cheesy because it absolutely is but I believe it anyhow.”

Minho smiles, still hiding. “I think you’re perfect too.”

“I’m so glad you looked my way.”

“You would’ve fallen on me again to direct my line of vision if I hadn’t,” Minho teases, drawing back to very carefully loop his arms around Peter’s neck and kiss him. 

Peter laughs and rubs their noses together. “I really thought you were going to deck me right then and there.” 

Minho giggles and then kisses the corner of Peter’s lips. “I thought so too.”

Minho adjusts himself so his arms are looped around Peter’s neck, his head resting against the pilot’s chest. “Your flying today - it was exceptional.”

“Thank you,” Peter chuckles, kissing along Minho’s hairline. 

“It was kind of hot,” Minho whispers, nuzzling into Peter’s neck. 

Peter snorts. “You like to be bossed around sometimes, don’t you.”

Minho pokes his chest, “Shut up, Lieutenant.”

“You’re so precious,” Peter coos, and Minho lets himself sink into the comforting feeling of being coddled. “I’m glad no one gets to see you like this besides me.” He thumbs at Minho’s pink cheek, smiling down at him. “God, you’re so perfect.”

Minho whines quietly, letting Peter pull him up into a kiss, his fingers catching in the fabric of Peter’s top. “‘m yours.”

Peter shifts so he can lift Minho off his lap and lay him down on the bed. “And I’m yours.”

Minho smiles up at Peter, completely happy. 

~

“Lieutenant, what is this?”

“Well, I kind of told some of the petty officers that you’d stop glaring at them if they helped me out.” Peter laughs at the look Minho sends him. “Yes, that’s the glare.” 

They’re standing in the canteen that has been cleaned until the floors shine. There’s a few lights on, illuminating the room even in the night, and the room speaker is playing faintly from where it is kept on the counter. On one of the tables is a plate of snacks and there’s a few paper hearts pasted on the backs of chairs. 

“I wanted to dance with you.” 

Over the past weeks they’d spent every free moment together, and Peter had figured out Minho likes dancing a little more than he’d admit. They don’t speak about it but the American unit’s time on the _Dokdo_ is running out - they have near a week left together. 

Minho is sad, scared, but he can’t help but smile when he looks at Peter. “Yeah? Are you going to ask me to dance, Peter?” 

Peter gives him an over exaggerated bow and holds out a hand for Minho to take. “Will you do me the honor of being my partner?”

Minho giggles as Peter wraps an arm around his waist to bring him closer. “I will.” 

“Good.” 

Peter twirls him around in circles and they both laugh, Minho admiring the smile he’s become so addicted to over the past eight weeks. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed you listen to this kind of music, oldies,” Minho says when they’re both completely dizzy and taking a breather. Peter is draped over his shoulder, watching as Minho touches the speaker. 

“And what did you guess I listened to?” Peter asks, laughing. 

“Thought you were a top fifties slut,” Minho teases, earning him another laugh. 

“‘Oh Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man, that he didn’t, didn’t already have,’” Peter sings teasingly into his ear, and Minho is shocked by how pretty his voice is. “‘So please, believe in me.’” 

“Believe in you?” Minho prods, turning around in Peter’s arms to poke his soft cheek. 

“Mhm,” Peter kisses his nose. “You’re my baby, I never want to do anything to hurt you.” 

“But you can’t promise that,” Minho whispers, a wave of sorrow hitting him. 

Peter shakes his head. “No, but I can tell you how much you mean to me.” 

“How much do I mean to you?” Minho asks, and it’s meant to be teasing but it comes out more broken than anything. 

“If I had to pick between flying and you, I’d pick you.” 

_Minho can’t breathe._

Peter leans in and kisses him. He’s so gentle, his hand resting at the small of Minho’s back while the other cups his cheek. 

It’s so clear.

Minho is falling in love. 

It’s absolutely terrifying. Peter - Minho isn’t scared of loving Peter. He’s scared of everything that comes with love. 

Most of all the horror of the idea of losing him. 

But, as Minho stares into Peter’s beautiful brown eyes he can’t feel anything but love warming his chest. He lets it consume him and for the briefest of seconds he forgets that they’re on an aircraft carrier, forgets that they’re in uniform. 

“You’re beautiful.”

Minho blushes, so utterly helpless, “If I say ‘have you seen yourself’ your ego will go through the roof.”

Peter laughs, squeezing Minho’s waist. “Knowing you like me is enough of a boost, don’t worry.”

_I love you._

“Shut up, Lieutenant.”

Peter’s resulting laugh in infectious. 

“I thought you would ask to come in,” Minho teases when Peter has walked him to his room. They’ve spent hours dancing together, which turned into just swaying and talking, and Minho is exhausted but also doesn’t want to let go of Peter’s hand.

Peter grins and shakes his head. “I want to be a gentleman. But who knows, tomorrow’s a different day.”

Minho kisses him, trying to convey all his feelings, the ones that make him so, so happy and the ones that crush him. 

When Minho’s alone in his room, standing with his back against the door, he wishes Peter had stayed. For companionship more than anything else. Minho doesn’t know what to do; this is a relationship, yes. A bond. A reason to stay alive.

But just how long can he go without this man?

~

“Smile.”

Minho shyly smiles at the camera, not at all used to having his photo taken. He hears the shutter go off and then the polaroid is printing, Peter expertly taking it and setting it on the crate next to them. 

“Let me take one of you.” Minho reaches for the camera, setting down the bottle of soju as he raises the device, and peers through the viewfinder at Peter. The pilot makes a few faces, gaining laughter from Minho, before settling on a smile, the one that Minho loves so much - one that is reflected in his eyes. 

“And that’s all the film,” Peter murmurs, looking at the camera when Minho is watching the two polaroids develop. 

Minho hums, coming up behind Peter and hugging him, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck. The mood suddenly tips into a rocky place between comfort and grief, the unspoken words heavy in both their minds. 

_We’ll be apart again._

_I’m going to miss you._

Peter sets down the camera, hands landing on top of Minho’s. “You know, I never thought I would have a chance with you,” he says, “and then I fell on top of you and I thought I ruined any chance of anything.” Minho laughs, remembering Australia. “But the day Wonderland and I left and we met in the hallway, when you wished me safety and luck I thought maybe, maybe there was something there.”

“You pissed me off from the start,” Minho says, “when you first saluted me without taking off your glasses and while smirking.” Peter laughs. “But you confused me more than anything. After that moment in the hallway I stood there like an idiot until I heard your jets leave.” Minho hides his face in Peter’s neck, embarrassed. “I was scared of you, scared of what would have happened if you stayed any longer. I was scared to see the aircrafts leave. I’m a coward, Peter. I’ve never been anything but.”

“I was scared,” he finally says, “the day that the thirty-fives were in our airspace. I don’t - I don’t get scared easily, it’s part of the reason I’m at the rank I am. But - I was terrified.” Minho presses his face into the space between Peter’s neck and shoulder, his words coming out muffled against the fabric of his flight suit. “I was terrified something was going to happen, like you wouldn’t be able to land and run out of fuel or you would attempt the landing but it would go wrong. I trust you so much as a pilot, but in those minutes I was so scared.” Minho’s hands turn into fists, clutching at the fabric under his hands. “I - I thought I was going to lose you, right in front of my eyes.”

Peter cards gentle fingers through his hair, letting Minho stay hidden. “Don’t be afraid, not now.”

_But I am. We both work risky jobs, there are hundreds of threats that we face each day. And what if you got hurt on the other side of the world? I would never know. And then I would wait hopelessly for you to come back to me. How can I live with the idea that I may never see you again after you leave my arms? What if I were to get injured or killed? You would never know, either._

_“I love you.”_ Minho closes his eyes, his grip on Peter’s shirt tightening again. _“Don’t stop coming back to me, I’ll wait, for as long as it takes.”_

~

And then...and then. 

The nine weeks come to an end, the sixty-three days Minho has memorized every moment of. From the second he wakes up he feels nauseous, and during the ending briefing he barely makes it through, wanting to cry as he says his thank yous and as Peter reflects them back. 

It hurts. It hurts to think and breathe.

“Minho.” 

Minho knows the sound of his voice by heart, and it only makes him want to cry harder. While Peter was doing final checks with the aircrafts Minho had retreated to the top of the ship control tower, and is crouched in a corner, trying to hold back his tears. 

“Minho, please look at me, baby.” 

Minho feels the pressure of hands on his upper arms, not painful but comforting. When he looks up he’s met with Peter’s worry - Peter looks just as crushed as he feels. “Everything hurts.”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Minho.” 

“Don’t be,” Minho whispers. “It’s not your fault.” He looks down, biting hard on his lip to keep in his tears.

“Baby, can I see your eyes?” Peter’s hand rests carefully against Minho’s skin, cupping his cheek. Minho looks up and is caught off guard by the emotions in Peter’s eyes. “I love you too, Lee Minho. And we’ll see each other again, I know it.”

Minho’s eyes widen in shock, “How did…”

“That’s for me to know,” Peter teases, a thumb running over the softness of Minho’s skin. “But next time, don’t be afraid to tell me, because I love you too.”

Minho’s hands find Peter’s shoulders, blinking to try and get rid of the tears building up in his eyes. “I love you, Peter. I’ve never loved anyone...and I’ve fallen for the man leaving me in a few minutes.” His words are chipped and falling apart.

Peter dries Minho’s tears and then pulls him close, letting Minho hide his face in his neck. “It’s unfair, isn’t it.” His voice is wobbly as well. 

Minho sniffles, nodding. “Just because we can live apart doesn’t make parting hurt any less.” 

Peter rubs circles on Minho’s back, holding him - protecting him - one last time. “I have to go, love.” 

Minho pulls away knowing his eyes are watering, and he knows Peter sees it. “Be safe, Peter.”

“You too.” Peter removes Minho’s hands from his shoulders, kissing his knuckles. “We’ll see each other again, Minho.”

Peter goes no more than two yards before Minho breaks.

“Peter,” Minho breathes, running after the pilot and grabbing his wrists, halting his movements. There are tears running down his cheeks and now he sees Peter is in the same state, which only makes him cry harder. 

“Minho.” Peter cups Minho’s cheek, smiling sadly at him. “Close your eyes, love.”

Minho lets his eyes close, feeling Peter let go of him, followed by the jangling of metal. His dog tags are then pulled from under his clothes, and he hears more rattling before they’re let go, resting against his chest, over his shirt. He goes to open his eyes but Peter clicks his tongue. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Minho whispers, feeling Peter’s lips brush his forehead. “Peter—”

“Don’t open your eyes,” Peter instructs and his voice is achingly soft. “Don’t open your eyes until I’m gone.”

Minho quickly shakes his head and Peter touches his cheek and kisses him. “If I see your eyes I won’t be able to leave,” he whispers, and his voice is broken. “And Minho, I have to leave.” There’s a kiss to his temple. “Don’t open your eyes.”

Suddenly Peter is backing up and Minho frantically reaches for him but he’s too far away. “Peter!”

“I love you, Minho.”

Minho shakes his head, tears squeezing from under his eyelids and mapping trails down his cheeks. “No, no, Lieutenant, I ord—”

“I love you, sir.” 

“No, Peter, please don’t leave—”

“Goodbye, Lieutenant Commander.”

The footsteps are gone as the metal door slips shut. 

Minho stands still for minutes, lips pressed together to hold in his sobs, as the sound of the jets four jets being launched hits him in waves. The noise echos in his head and in his chest, and Minho doesn’t think he’ll ever stop hearing it; Peter leaving.

When the noise quiets down Minho finally opens his eyes to be greeted with the colors of dawn, and walks on shaky legs to the rail. Below him, on the deck, the spots where the American aircrafts had been stowed are empty.

Minho lets out a shuddering breath, and finally looks down at his dog tags. Looped onto his is a new half-tag, replacing his own. The identification tag itself is a darker silver color than Minho’s own, and Minho knows with a sinking heart where this is going. He picks up the new tag anyways. 

_HAN  
PETER J.  
xx-xxx-xxx  
B POS  
NO PREFERENCE  
USN - A F22_

Minho breaks down. He collapses, heart shattering as his knees hit the ground. He cries harder than he ever has, clutching Peter’s tag in his hand and cursing the sky for taking the only man he’ll ever love from him. 

In that moment Minho feels human. He feels human because all he can register is excruciating pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> worse smut has been written?? maybe hhh  
> jisung’s dog tags go like this:  
> name, service number, blood type, religion, usa navy, aviator f-22


	3. ROKS-Dokdo Assault Ship (pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys,, i hope you enjoy this chapter ^3^
> 
>  **cw:** air combat, assault, brief mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts

A slightly bent postcard depicting an alligator wearing sunglasses is left on Minho’s desk, propped up against his computer screen so he’ll find it. 

_Minho (can I say my Minho? I’d really like to think you’re mine and I’m yours),  
I’ve arrived back to the base with the others, it’s hot as hell here in Florida. I’m missing you like crazy, it’s been what, a week since we saw each other last? But somehow it still feels like forever. I hope you don’t mind that I swapped our half-tags, I should have asked first and I hope no one gave you trouble for it, if someone does just tell them to be careful or your amazing boyfriend will be back to rough them up.  
I hope that you are doing well, and that you don’t forget me!  
I love you, Lee Minho. I love you and I’ll see you again soon.  
Your Peter_

A crumpled and stained letter covered in an obnoxious amount of postage stamps is tossed onto the table where Peter is eating lunch. 

_My Peter (I am yours, fool),  
Have you insinuated that we are boyfriends? I don’t remember ever making that decision! And though I’d prefer if you returned with good intentions, if roughing someone up means you come back to me sooner, then so it shall be.  
If my previous words weren’t proof enough, I miss you too. Terribly. Although it makes me sad, your half-tag brings me some form of confidence to keep going, it’s my physical reminder that you are real.  
I think I have been a bit harsher to my subordinates since you’ve left, and I wish I could apologize to them in some way. But I’m scared. Funny, right? Commander Im has been hanging around more now that you and the others are gone. It makes me nervous, I don’t fully trust the choices that he makes. But I can’t do anything about it, so I let it be.  
I hope that this letter gets to you, or if you are deployed again before you receive it, that you see it eventually.  
I love you, Lieutenant. Stay safe.  
Yours, Minho_

_“This came for you in the mail, sir.”_ Minho yanks the letter out of the ensign’s hands.

_MY Minho,  
I got your letter just two days before I was deployed again. I’m flying out of England and I couldn’t help but think of you. Maybe we could come here together someday, just a little vacation away as long as we’re both cleared for the country.  
Im better stay the fuck away from you or I will come back to oust that awful man. Keep me updated on him, baby. I don’t want you getting hurt again.  
God, I miss you. Sometimes I just hold your tag and wish I was wherever you are. We expected this when we agreed to be in a relationship, but I’m now finding out how much it hurts to be without you.  
I hope you are doing better than me - Sam caught a cold and is keeping me up at night with his sneezes, our bunks are close and tiny here.  
Attached is the address you can send mail to, I’ll be here for two months or so.  
Love you,  
Your Peter_

A jet launches into the air as the mail delivery service pulls up to the military housing unit.

_My Peter,  
I hope your deployment is going well. Here is the same as it was when you left a few months ago, though the few dogfights with the revolutionists in the east is stirring up some worry. Something is coming, I know it is, but I’m not sure when.  
I miss you too, I treasure all the memories I have of you and of us. I don’t know when we’ll see each other next but I hope that it is soon, I’m beginning to feel lost.  
Aside from my feelings, I have great hopes that you will continue to stay safe. I’ll wait patiently for your letters!  
Lots of love,  
Your Minho_

A file cabinet slowly fills with unopened mail. 

_My Peter,  
It’s war, isn’t it.  
The revolutionists have made their long-awaited attack, this time on South America. And somehow I know that you didn’t get my letter from a month ago - you’ve been on the front lines all this time, haven’t you?  
It’s silly, I know, but I have to write this letter, even if I have trouble sending it because of this situation, or you never receive it. I try to be my best self every second, Peter, but when I’m alone for the few hours I am I break down because I am so, so scared. I don’t know where you are and it’s killing me - I don’t know your state and thoughts of your well-being haunt each second. I miss you, Peter. Fight well, wherever you are, and I’ll do the same here. It’s selfish, but please come back. I love you so very much.  
Yours forever,  
Minho _

Ten Months Later

[Location : North Pacific]  
[Ship : _ROKS-Dokdo_ Assault Ship, Operating Aircraft Carrier]  
[Event : Aggression from Revolutionist Group, Immediate Action Ordered]  
[Host : International Liaison of the Republic of Korea Navy, ROKN]

Minho is an independent person. He’s resilient and detached, it’s what makes him a good soldier. He doesn’t play with emotion and he doesn’t show fear when perhaps he should. He has expectations for himself and others which keep him always moving forward and up. He’ll have stars on his shoulders one day, he knows it. He’s good. 

He’s expected that something would happen sooner or later with the known revolutionist group that’s been threatening the allied countries, and it hadn’t really surprised him when the first attack hit land. He’s been overseeing the array of aircrafts that have come and gone, to and from war, flying over the Pacific. He’s on edge, of course, but he has resigned himself to the idea that this would happen long ago, and therefore can keep calm about it and instruct his subordinates with a level head. 

What he didn’t plan for was falling in love, falling in love with one of the pilots who he knows is in the midst of all that danger.

Now Minho feels like nothing more than a terrified child. 

_“Give me the rundown,”_ Minho says, coming to stand by Changbin’s seat in the flight control tower. _“Who do we have on deck?”_

 _“We have the last unit of our jets down for maintenance checks,”_ Changbin says. _“And about twenty minutes ago we got an immediate request for the landing of American aircrafts. Six F-22 Raptors,”_ Changbin continues, gesturing out the window. _“Apparently they lost their tanker in a previous attack and were running on vapors.”_

Minho looks away from Changbin’s station to see the mentioned jets stacked, mechanics and flight crew surrounding them. Minho catches sight of a pilot dressed in a green flight suit, talking to one of the crew chiefs, and he narrows his eyes at the familiar figure. _“Is that…”_

 _“Wonderland,”_ Changbin cuts in. _“He stuck a good landing.”_

Minho’s eyes widen. There’s been American aircrafts on the _Dokdo_ frequently, but if Wonderland is here could there be a chance… _“Do you know the signs of the other pilots?”_

Changbin raises an eyebrow, _“You want to know if that pilot from all those months ago is here, don’t you?”_

Minho glares at him, _“Is he, Lieutenant?”_

_“Parker? He is.”_

Minho’s breath gets cut short and his heartbeat picks up. After months he’s finally knows Peter is safe, safe for now, and just within reach. _“Where are the pilots? Are they in the galley? Reporting?”_ He needs to see him.

Changbin sighs, pointing past Minho. _“They stopped for refueling and checks, sir. They’re leaving for the pattern now.”_

Minho rushes to the window, looking out onto the deck. Sure enough, the six American pilots are standing in a group, helmets under their arms as they speak to each other. Minho watches as they split up after a moment, each heading to their respective aircraft. 

It takes Minho no longer than a few seconds to find who he’s searching for among the ground crew. _“Peter,”_ Minho breathes, pressing a hand against the glass. It’s obviously him, obviously the pilot that has so easily caught and kept Minho’s attention. Minho wants so badly to run to the strip and shout for him but he can’t move his feet, so transfixed on watching. He stares as Peter greets the deck crew and then climbs up the ladder into the jet, pulling on his helmet - white with red stripes, Parker printed on the side. Minho’s too far away to see the details but he remembers them clear as day. 

All too soon the canopy is closing over Peter’s head and Minho lets out a shaky breath, watching as the engines of the jet start. Minho’s hardly blinked before the jet is taxiing to the end of the strip. Minho stares hard at the canopy, just able to see the outline of Peter’s body. Then it’s all he can see, none of the rush on the deck, just Peter’s vague profile. And the lines of his hand as he raises it, giving one salute. 

Minho’s always wondered what it would be like to have wings. He’s wondered countless times how it would feel to have wind rushing by him, what the world would look like as he drifted away. Many times Minho has wanted to be free like that, to be in the sky. 

But now he’s terrified of the sky; the one that’s colored with smoke and fire. 

Peter’s aircraft blazes to life and then it’s catapulted from the gears, charging down the runway at such a speed that Minho can hardly keep up. The jet shoots towards the end of the runway, wheels leaving the cement just before the end of the ship comes. 

Minho’s hand curls into a fist against the glass, watching the jet become smaller and smaller in the distance, flying high over the vast ocean. _“Come back,”_ he whispers. _“Peter Han, you have to come back to me.”_

“We’ve been cleared to handle your next attack pattern, as your aircrafts are in our jurisdiction,” Minho speaks into the transmission radio. “One of our escort ships is down, the rest will be in comms. I ask for your cooperation, and I will give you the entirety of ours.” 

In just minutes after the launch of the American jets an alarm had gone up in regards to unidentified weaponized aircrafts coming into the ship’s pattern. The American jets are the ones closest to them, and while the Korean unit is in pre-launch the American pilots are what the crew must rely on. 

“We have three Lightenings coming our way from the south. I trust Lieutenant Han has a formation ready?” 

Peter is quick in response. “I do, sir. Bravo-Juliet control we’re taking a four finger approach. Any other traffic?” 

Minho steps away from the table, watching as the air control officers take over. It’s smooth - almost like it had gotten to be back when the first rotation of American pilots had come through. 

It’s like the first rotation, except that this time it’s war.

“Sir, take a breather,” Changbin says when they’ve spent tense minutes listening to the pilots interact and report, dodging missile lock and sending back their own. After Peter had faked one jet out Wonderland had shot it down, but the victory was short-lived as the other two hadn’t let up in the slightest. _“You don’t look too good.”_ How can he - Peter is in a battlefield. Changbin has noticed his distress, Minho chides himself for being obvious, but accepts the radio that is set in hand. _“Go while there’s a lag, no combat. If anything happens you’ll hear through this, it’s a direct line from the transmissions.”_

Minho doesn’t try to argue because he knows that Changbin is right. He’s only a detriment to the crew right now - he’s too emotionally attached to this operation. So Minho stumbles out of the room and down the main hallway, set on going to the one place he knows he won’t be disturbed. 

The chapel is tiny. It’s Minho’s first time in the room and he observes it carefully. There are two benches and then a pulpit at the front, a cross hanging on the wall behind. There’s a row of fake candles glowing on a small table to the side of the room, making shadows flicker over the walls of the minimally-lit room. 

Minho sits down heavily on the front bench, his eyes closing. His hand is still wrapped around the radio, waiting for information that he hopes won’t come. He feels tears slide down his cheeks but he doesn’t move to push them away, too drained to do anything but sit in silence.

 _“Please, God,”_ Minho finally whispers and his voice is hoarse and raspy. _“I don’t know if you’re even real and I’ve never prayed before so I don’t know what I’m doing but I - I need him to come back. Please, keep him safe. Please, please bring him back safely. I beg you.”_

As if it’s an answer, the radio picks up a transmission. “ _Dokdo_ control broadcast, scanners have two new fighters entering the airspace to the northeast. Thirty miles out and coming in fast. We need eyes.”

“Victor-Whiskey nine eight eight with visual, they’re en route for the carrier with complete missiles. Betting they’re coming to take the carrier out.” 

Minho’s hands shake. 

There’s a scramble of voices, different pilots sending in locations, and Minho suddenly realizes Changbin gave him a radio linked directly to the English platform, knowing that he’s only needing to know the status of one particular aircraft. 

“Bravo-Juliet, taking Echo-Tango and Yankee-Zulu to cut them off. Control, give me their position.” 

_Peter._

“Twenty-four, head them off at twenty, Lieutenant.” 

“Will do.” 

Minho doesn’t want to hear Peter’s voice over the feed again because Minho can only hear the negative, and he can’t stand to think of anything happening to his love. But though he’s begged God and wished with his entire being, fate finds itself to be cruel.

“Bravo-Juliet, I’m under missile lock, Juliet two-one.” 

Minho’s world stills. 

Minho grew up with no family besides his mother. She had always wanted the best life for him and worked day and night to provide enough money for his tuition to a private school. Minho learned his work ethic from her. 

She told Minho endlessly how proud she was of him, and it drove him to do more and more for her. He wanted to some day give her a life she deserved - one where she could live peacefully and not have to work again. But when Minho was studying abroad, she died. 

It was heart failure caused by overwork, the doctors said when Minho arrived back in Korea. She had been working too hard for someone her age and after years of labor, her body couldn’t handle it anymore. 

A piece of Minho died that day with his mother. 

Without a goal, providing for his mother no longer a valid option, Minho forced himself to finish university and then decided to join the military. 

The first years at the academy were torture, but Minho got past it. He’s smart, talented, quick. He could have a proper name for himself but somehow he got wedged behind other officers, forced to clean up after them. He’s stuck in a position where he can’t leave, he knows he’ll be in the military until he’s too old to work. But he has nothing else to live for, nothing to do besides keep climbing the ranks, so it’s okay. 

Until an American pilot crashed into his life and flipped everything upside down. 

Minho’s still lost, but now he has Peter’s hand to hold. He’s not alone. The thing is, no one else could ever be what Peter is for him. Peter is the only person who he can give his heart to - the only person he can love. 

Peter is his world. 

_“Lieutenant Commander sir, you need to breathe.”_

There’s a gentle grip on Minho’s forearm and he recognizes the voice to be Seungmin’s. He realizes that his lungs are burning from his halt in breathing, and he gasps, lungs filling again. 

_“Lieutenant Kim?”_ He hates how shaken he sounds, he hates how this man will now know how weak he is.

 _“Sir, control is doing everything they can,”_ Seungmin says, his eyes softening just a bit as he watches Minho’s turbulent expression. _“And Lieutenant Han is the best pilot we’ve ever seen on this craft. He has a better chance than anyone.”_

“Bravo-Juliet control, they're not letting go. I’m going to pull up and get behind them.”

They both pause at Peter’s voice, 

“Fuck! They set me up, I have one on my back. Snowman, where are you?”

Minho can hear some voices mixed with static but—

“Echo-Tango control, Parker was hit, left wing, he’s spinning out.”

Minho feels blank. 

_“Lieutenant Kim, what do you do when your whole world is falling apart?”_ Minho asks, hardly realizing he’s shaking in the man’s arms. 

Seungmin gently pats his back and Minho wants to reject the touch but he has nothing else to hold onto. He doesn’t know Seungmin well enough to be crying in his arms but he has nothing else. 

Nothing. 

If he loses Peter he will have _nothing._

 _“Lieutenant Kim, the reason I get up in the morning is the possibility that he might land on this carrier. I’ve never had anything until him, but I told myself that I was fine. And now that I have him - if I lose him,”_ Minho closes his eyes. _“I want to regret loving him, so that if...so that everything will stop hurting. But I can’t, Lieutenant. How can I regret loving the man who makes me feel human?”_

Seungmin doesn’t answer him. 

“This is control, give me Bravo-Juliet’s status.” 

_Changbin._

“Echo-Tango control, he’s losing altitude fast, nearing the hundreds. Up here the fighters still aren’t letting go.” 

Minho’s throat closes up. 

“Bravo-Juliet control, I went into a flat spin, my left wing was hit and the engine’s busted. Going to one.” Minho exhales in relief when he hears Peter’s voice. “Lieutenant Commander Lee.” Minho freezes. “I need you to promise me something, okay? Don’t be lonely.” 

Minho sniffles, tears pouring from his eyes as he shakes his head frantically at the radio grasped in his hands. “I won’t. Not if you don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, you can’t.” He hopes that somehow Peter can hear his words.

“Bravo-Juliet reengaging from the northeast. Climbing from one-thousand.”

_Please don’t keep this up, please don’t keep fighting, please come back—_

“Bravo-Juliet this is command, get on deck, your aircraft is compromised.” Minho frowns - Commander Im?

“Bravo-Juliet control, my aircraft is now stable and I have unused missiles. There’s no way in hell I’m letting these fuckers come any closer to the ship, if you won’t give me clearance I’ll go rogue.” 

Minho’s jaw drops. 

“Have it your way, Lieutenant.” 

Static.

 _“What the fuck,_ ” Seungmin whispers beside Minho. Minho is already on his feet and running out the door, radio clutched tightly in hand. He hears the angry cries of the other pilots at Peter’s control frequency being dropped. Is this Im’s way of getting back at Peter? 

Minho bursts into the communications room to see Im standing behind the main desk, watching on. Minho jogs up to Changbin, resting a hand on the back of the Lieutenant’s chair to steady himself. _“Update me.”_

 _“The lieutenant still has communication with the other pilots but not with_ Dokdo _air and ground control,”_ Changbin tells him under his breath. _“We can’t give him direct positions and attacks and the other information he needs, he’s having to hear it from the pilots. And possibly worse still, we don’t know what he’s thinking and he’s the brains of their team. Sir, he needs access back, he can’t go rogue for this. There’s too many jets.”_

 _“I’ll get it back.”_ Minho steps up to Im who is already watching him, his arms crossed over his chest. _“Give Bravo-Juliet’s access back, sir.”_

_“Or what will you do, Lieutenant Commander?”_

Minho grits his teeth, feeling the burn of tears shade his eyes. _“You’re playing with fire, this could have you stripped of your rank! Give Bravo-Juliet’s access back.”_

_“Why should I?”_

Minho explodes. _“Everyone! Give Bravo-Juliet’s access back or I will report all of you for treason of allied forces. Do you understand me!”_

There’s a round of agreements and not seconds later he hears Peter’s voice over the frequency. “Thanks for bringing me back, Lieutenant Commander.” 

Minho grins, knowing Peter must’ve been filled in on the events by the other pilots. Even as his forearm is grabbed and he’s dragged out of the room he smiles, knowing that he’s protected them both. 

_“I hate you.”_

Minho curls into a ball, the metallic taste of blood strong in his mouth. His gut and ribs hurt and he’s sure he’s broken one if not more. “Why,” he stammers, looking up at Im who is peering down at him deadly eyes. _“What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?”_

_“Everything, Lee Minho. You’re good at what you do and people like you. It makes you arrogant and self-centered, so much so that you’ve lost yourself to thinking you’re something more than just a soldier.”_

Minho’s heart slows. 

_“Learn your place.”_ Im kicks him one more time, sending him tumbling backwards until his head smacks into the wall, and then stalks out of the otherwise empty meeting hall. 

Minho tries to take a breath but he nearly sobs, the pain of his ribs overwhelming him. But through the fog of his brain he hears a faint call through the radio he’d dropped when first pushed into the room and he crawls to grab it, biting on his lip to hold in his pain. 

“Bravo-Juliet to control, two down and the rest are headed out. Air control get us on deck, I think we’ve had enough fun for today.”

Minho starts crying.

Minho disregards his rank as he hurries as quickly as he can through the hallways and down to the deck, knocking into crew members as he heads for the strip. It’s so crowded between the aircrafts that Minho can hardly see, but he maneuvers through the people until he’s out of the stacks. 

The line of aircrafts is long and Minho’s breath hitches every time he spots a pilot, but they’re never the one he’s looking for. His heart drops as he walks against the building opposite the jets, bumping into the occasional person. He hears some yelling and then the incredibly loud noise of a jet passes over him, and then the grating sound of wheels on cement, followed by the snapping of the tailhook on the arresting wire. Minho winces at the massive influx of noise, his ears ringing.

As the aircraft taxis past Minho looks around one last time, about ready to give up his search. 

But then.

Peter is standing in front of his jet a few aircrafts down, helmet off, staring straight at Minho. 

Minho’s eyes fill up with tears and he moves forward, trying to run towards Peter but he bumps into a crew member and stumbles, his ribs screaming in pain. When he regains his balance he looks up to see Peter sprinting to him, skidding to a stop not a second later. 

Peter looks exhausted - there’s bags under his eyes and his face is darkened with lines of stress. But he’s here. _He’s here._

To Minho’s surprise he grabs Minho’s wrist and pulls him along, back towards the control tower he’d come from. Minho follows him diligently, nearly bumping into his back when he slows to a stop in the back corner, pressed against the wall of the building and the rail of the ship, where there aren’t any crew members. 

Minho raises a hand and brushes Peter’s cheek when they’re still, over the lines made from him wearing his mask for so long. Peter leans into Minho’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“You made it back.” Minho’s voice is unsteady.

“I did,” Peter replies, taking Minho’s hand from his cheek and kissing his knuckles. 

“I was so scared,” Minho whispers, his other hand finding the fabric of Peter’s flight suit.

Peter slides his free hand over Minho’s jaw to cup his cheek. “I’m here now.”

Minho nods, letting out a shaky breath. “You are.” 

“It’s been a while,” Peter murmurs, thumb running over Minho’s skin. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Peter’s eyes flick up to meet Minho’s and he can see how wet they are. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I love you,” Minho is near breathless. 

Peter guides him backwards until he hits the wall, and Minho lets out a soft noise at the slight impact. “I love you too.” Peter leans in to brush his lips over the height of Minho’s cheek. 

Minho’s throat closes and suddenly he can’t breathe - he’s overwhelmed. Peter notices and pulls away for let him take a breath, frowning when he notices Minho’s extra struggle.

“Do you have to go?” Minho finally whispers. “Do you have orders?” 

“We have the briefing in a few and I have another tomorrow but I’ll be here tonight.” Peter presses lightly against Minho’s stomach where he’d been holding himself and anger fills his expression when Minho yelps. “What happened, love? Was it that commander?” 

“Peter…” 

“This is what you got in return for restoring my access,” Peter growls, “isn’t it?” 

“I don’t want to talk about him now,” Minho whispers, “I haven’t seen you in almost a year and you nearly got shot down, please, Lieutenant.” 

“Parker! Come on, we’re late!” 

Both Peter and Minho look towards the call to see Wonderland waving them over. “Tonight we’ll talk,” Peter murmurs, kissing Minho’s forehead. “Let’s go.” 

“Welcome staff, pilots,” Im’s English has developed over the past months but he’s not proficient yet. “Good flying today.” 

Minho steps in at his cue and looks around the table at the pilots and liaison members. “We have a call with base command to take, to inform him of what has passed.” 

Soon a video call with Commander Cho is projected for them to see, and Minho stands quietly to the side while Im addresses him. Once he’s filled in on the event, Cho’s eyes flicker over the pilots, smiling when he spots a certain one. “Lieutenant Han, I thought I’d be seeing you again.” 

“Sir,” Peter dips his head, “I’m glad to be here. But while I have your attention could I ask you a question?” 

“Yes,” Cho agrees, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sir, hypothetically speaking if an officer were to disconnect a pilot from their access to tower frequencies, and that pilot was mid-combat, and this was done maliciously and was an unfair act of power over their subordinates, would it be considered an act of treason?” 

Cho’s eyes narrow. “What you describe is an officer putting many people at risk for reasons of their own. Yes.” 

Peter hums, nodding like he’s truly processing the commander’s words. “Say, what would happen to that officer if what they did was presented to you?” 

“That officer would be stripped of their title and could serve prison time depending on the exact situation.” Cho leans forward in his seat. “Do you have something you want to tell me, Lieutenant?” 

Peter shakes his head. “This was a hypothetical situation, Commander.” Wonderland snickers quietly. “But if there was an officer who would do something like that, I’m sure they’d transfer off of this ship right away, wouldn’t they. To avoid their past mistakes.” 

Commander Cho sighs. “Lieutenant, one more word and I’ll be sending a team to look through this event’s transmission logs.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Peter says smiling sweetly at a scowling Im, “I believe we’ve all gotten our answers.” 

Minho wants to cry - he’s so ridiculously in love with this man. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Peter says, looking around Minho’s room. “It looks the same.”

Minho laughs, “I haven’t had much of an opportunity to renovate, Lieutenant.”

He turns to set down Peter’s things he’d retrieved from the jet and as he’s straightening up he feels Peter’s arms wrap around his waist from behind, ever so gently. “Can I help you?”

“Mm, missed you,” Peter murmurs, nuzzling against Minho’s shoulder. 

“I missed you too.”

“Let me see your stomach.” 

Minho whines but eventually unbuttons his shirt, watching Peter’s expression darken when the bruises he had known would be there are unveiled. “Broken ribs?” Peter asks, touching a particularly harsh purple and red splotch on his left side. 

Minho winces. “Yeah. Most are probably bruised.”

“Do you have pain medicine?” Peter is eerily calm. When Minho points to his bottom desk drawer the pilot opens it, finding the near empty bottle easily. When he looks up his eyes aren’t dark - instead he looks heartbroken. “How often does he hit you?” 

Minho shrugs. “Enough.” 

“I should’ve turned him in.” Peter is so obviously hosting a war inside his head. 

Minho steps forward and pulls him into a hug. “You scared him. You can blackmail him, he’ll probably leave here if you push it. Don’t beat yourself up over it, please.” Minho kisses his cheek and pulls him to the bed, forcing him to sit. “You’ve been through so much today, don’t worry about this tonight.” 

“How have you been these past months?” Peter asks, watching as Minho swallows two tabs and changes into his sleep clothes.

“I’ve been alright,” Minho says, wincing as he raises his arms to pull on his shirt but gives up quickly, finding his way back to the bed. “Busy with the attacks. We’re getting hundreds of aircrafts through here, and the liaison work has been extensive. And you? How have you been?” 

Peter is changing as well, and when he’s dressed he leans back against the wall, propped up on Minho’s one measly pillow, and Minho easily leans into his chest. “It’s been hard. I’ve never experienced so much combat as what the squadron has been through in these past months. Protecting what matters to me has always been my drive, but that has almost become a chore. Now I can’t help but wonder, ‘If I finish this mission am I one step closer to being back to Minho?’ instead of feeling completion.”

“Being with you terrifies me,” Minho whispers, fingers mapping a trail down Peter’s chest, the thin green fabric of his shirt bunching under his touch. “Being here, being part of the ground team of the operation you’re on and knowing what you’re up against. Hearing your voice over the transmission. Knowing that if something went wrong I could lose you in an instant.” He takes a shaky breath, mind clouding with remnants of his emotions from earlier in the chapel. “I’m just so scared.”

Peter presses a kiss to the spot behind Minho’s ear, trying to calm him. “Today all I could think about was stopping those jets from getting anywhere near the carrier, at any cost.” His lips land just under Minho’s jaw. “Because that’s where you were. When I heard your voice over the comms a massive wave of fear swept through me. I thought you might still be deployed but when it was confirmed I felt frozen. But I knew I had to keep you safe. I - I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let those jets carry out the planned attack. If you had been hurt, God forbid killed,” he kisses down Minho’s neck, landing on the smooth skin of his shoulder. “If you had died, right in front of me…”

Peter would have committed suicide. 

Minho understands the unspoken words because it’s exactly the same for him. If Peter hadn’t made it out of missile lock and the spin, if he hadn’t made it back to the ship, Minho would’ve been dead by morning. Minho lives clinging onto the hope that Peter is alive wherever he is in the world, and that one day they’ll see each other again. There’s that hope, but also the constant numbing fear of the possibility that Peter is dead. So they both live for that sense of hope. But if one of them were to be alive knowing the other is dead it would destroy them in every way. 

There’s loyalty to your country, but then there’s loyalty to the one you love. 

“I love you,” Minho whispers, shifting so he can kiss Peter on the lips.

“I love you too,” the pilot murmurs, one hand slipping down Minho’s side to rest on his hip. “God, Minho.”

Minho feels Peter’s tears before he sees them, smearing against his own skin as they kiss. But soon Minho has tears on his cheeks to match, his emotions finally breaking loose. “This...us...it’s so hard. What if years pass without hearing from you and then one day I receive news you passed away? I would have lived all that time for nothing, if I could never touch you again.” 

“Shh.” Peter brings them down onto their sides, ever careful of Minho’s ribs. His eyes are so beautiful up close, even through the veil of Minho’s tears. “I know, love. All we can do is hang onto that hope, though.” 

“People depend on me but I don’t want to live if you’re not alive,” Minho whispers, and instantly Peter has trapped him in a tight hug. “I love you.” 

“I love you too. I’ll stay alive for you.” Peter kisses him over and over, until Minho is smiling. “You stay alive for me, yeah?” 

Minho cuddles closer, letting his eyes close. “I will.” 

When he wakes up he’s on his other side, Peter hugging him from behind. Minho’s wearing a sleep shirt, which Peter must’ve pulled onto him at some point last night. 

Minho feels achy and drained from the events of yesterday and all his messy emotions.

It doesn’t take long before he feels Peter shifting behind him and then he speaks up, voice deepened and groggy from sleep. “How do you feel?”

Minho flips over to smile at his pilot, trailing his fingers along Peter’s jaw and then leaning in to kiss him. “Good. About yesterday, I’m just scared of leaving. I’m scared of letting go. I just - last night I needed to let it out. I’m sorry if I was too much—”

Peter cuts him off with a kiss. “Don’t be sorry, Minho. I needed it too, I am terrified just like you.”

“Yeah?” 

Peter nods. “Yeah.” 

Minho feels his eyes begin to water and he blinks quickly, embarrassed. “Ready to face the music?” 

Peter laughs, “Never.” 

Just an hour later Peter goes into a virtual briefing with his fellow pilots and Minho is left pacing the corridors, knowing that Peter is receiving his new orders. He selfishly hopes that he’ll stay with the _Dokdo,_ but knows that someone with his skillset will be sent towards the heart of the war. It terrifies him. 

Too soon but not soon enough Peter finds him, drawing him to the side of the near-empty hall. His expression is grim, and Minho begins to feel sick. 

“I have my new orders,” Peter says, and Minho’s heart drops, the smile he’d worn fading from his expression. “My squadron is headed towards the lower coast of Peru.”

Minho takes a shallow breath, he knows that’s where the heat of the war currently is. “And...your squadron is sticking together, no separate missions?”

Peter focuses his gaze on his boots. “I’ve been given orders to fly to the front.”

Minho presses his lips into a thin line, nodding once, his thoughts confirmed. “I see.” 

Peter reaches forward, taking Minho’s hand in his. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“I’m sorry too.” Minho tries desperately to hold in his tears. “Let’s get you ready, Lieutenant.” 

“Thank you,” Peter says, squeezing Minho’s hand once. They’re on the deck, surrounded by the bustle of the carrier. “For waiting for me to come back. On all accounts.” He unzips one of the pockets of his flight suit, pulling out a small polaroid. Minho takes it from him carefully, eyes widening upon seeing that it’s the one Peter had taken of him all those months ago. 

“When running through flight procedures a pilot first checks all systems, and then when avionics are powered on they communicate with the ship for launch. Then there’s a moment, before the gear releases the jet, when those who are religious pray for the safety of everyone involved in the mission, and pray that they’ll see their families and loved ones after the flight, if God is willing.” 

“And then there’s the pilots who only trust in what they can see.” Peter taps the edge of the polaroid once. “I fly with your picture to remind myself that there’s someone waiting for me, and I trust myself to make it back every time so I can be one step closer to seeing your face in person again.”

“You fly with my picture?” Minho whispers, letting Peter take the photo back and put it back in his pocket, directly over his heart. 

“Whether it’s ten days or ten minutes, I never want to miss a chance to see you. And if I am terminated during a mission, well, what am I supposed to do besides fall with you on my mind?” 

Minho can’t find words, and only realizes he’s shaking when Peter takes his hands to still them. “One day we’ll see each other again.”

Minho sniffles, “Is conflict and war the only thing that brings us together?”

Peter smiles at him, his eyes crinkling up. “One day we’ll find each other again, and on that day the world will be at peace.” Peter’s lips brush over Minho’s, teasing him into a kiss. “Promise me that you’ll do everything in your power to stay safe.”

“I will,” Minho whispers, the words trapped between their lips. “Promise me the same.”

“I promise,” Peter repeats, hands finding Minho’s waist, pulling him even closer by the hips. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Minho nods, thumb running over Jisung’s cheekbone. “What is it?”

Peter presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s temple. “Don’t find yourself lonely. Don’t be lonely again.”

“I’ll try. For you,” Minho says, hugging Peter. 

“Lieutenant Han!”

They both tense up at the call of the crew chief. “This is goodbye?” Minho shivers as Peter brushes away his falling tears. 

“Just for now. Wear this and think of me, yeah?” Peter tugs on the dog tag chain around Minho’s neck.

“I will.” Minho’s heart aches as Peter backs away from him but he forces himself not to reach out and pull the pilot back. “Wear yours.”

Peter nods, but quickly turns when his title is shouted again, and he crosses over the strip, greeting the crew member that had been calling him so urgently. 

When they’re finished speaking, Minho shouts for him again.

“Peter!”

Peter turns, looking across the runway at Minho with a tiny smile. “Yes?”

Minho’s hands are shaking as he raises them to rub his cheeks dry. “I’ll miss you!” 

“I’ll miss you too,” the pilot calls back.

He sees the crew chief shout at Peter and knows they’re out of time. “Peter!” He nods, his expression fond. Minho smiles. “Fly safely!”

“I will!” he shouts, walking backwards towards his jet. 

“Stay safe!”

“I will!” Peter’s further and further away with each second. 

Minho watches as he greets the ground crew at the nose of his jet, and then moves towards the ladder. With each step up Minho feels like the miles are already growing between them. 

“Lieutenant!”

Peter pauses on the top rung, looking across the deck at Minho. “Yes, sir?”

Minho lets out a watery laugh. “I love you!” Peter laughs as well, his grin sunny. “I love you, Lieutenant Han. So come back!”

Peter nods, giving Minho one last smile before stepping down into the cockpit of his jet. 

Minho watches as the canopy is pulled down and as it taxis, and as the jet is released from the gears and launched into the air, flying to the north, towards the ever-growing darkness on the horizon.

_One day we’ll find each other again, and on that day the world will be at peace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the darker part of this chapter might seem a bit dramatic and maybe it is but also remember min's only family died when he was young and he was practically tortured at school and then abused in the military PLUS now he's in this insanely difficult long distance relationship with the only person he's ever loved so. then look at jisung's side, he was an orphan and has had to make his own way without support, and is living with the guilt of killing one of his men. so yes minho and jisung are very very attached thank you


End file.
